I Wake, the Sound

of shimmering cymbals


and street vendors


hawking food I love,


but my wife will never eat,


bright colored curtains


shade the room,


but let what late


afternoon air that will,


move through the apartment.


 


I stir again and wake


on my suburban couch


in our gated community,


having never traveled


a mortal step up


the narrow stone path


from sparkling shore


to bright adobe walls


of this villa, yet,


I live here as often


as anywhere.