Shadows on the Floor

He walks into the front living room 

where the sun is shining 

through the large picture window 

and wades through the shadows 

of bare tree branches on the floor, 

their leaves long since dissolved 

in the empty belly of winter.  

His thoughts are scattered 

or at least fixed on too many possibilities 

which brings him to the reality 

that he is on the downslope of life 

and filled with the uncertainty

of what things are even still attainable 

before his time is up.  

For a moment he cannot remember 

why he entered the room 

but then the smell of coffee 

reminds him that he needs the cup 

to organize himself and 

clear the brambles in his brain

in order to create his poems.  

With a few sips and a perch 

at the dining room table he begins to write: 

“He walks into the front living room...”

***