by Sydney Portilla-Diggs
from the hospital window
I can only see the top of the water tower
I can not tell if it is a functional one
because the metal is so rusted
the sky is a different sort of gray today and
there are no birds in the great expanse of sky
the solitary tower stands alone
I watched the glass for hours and studied
the way the beads of perspiration cling
to the sides of the glass barely aware
of the noise of the ceiling fan overhead
the sound is at the edge of my consciousness
my mind wanders and I am wondering
and turning over every memory
like a cherished memento or a rare artifact.
a flash of clarity -- an epiphany --
spreads across my psyche as a
ripple often does on the calm surface of a pond.
solitude is not my friend
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