In winter, the absence of my
neighbors from their slant-roofed
porch, is a comfort. By brick hearth
they sit, out of sight of squirrel
and smoke. But in summer, their
absence signals a different
sequestering – by the television,
I presume, unaware of the brown
bird now nesting in their wicker
chair. I wish I had a fire, or
a chair to nest in, but I am alone
and they do not know I watch them.
This author chooses to remain anonymous.