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portrait.
all-knowing
none-saying equipment
ancient
dusted once
years ago by a steady hand
with a damp cloth.
that worker was not me
I read aloud
years later in
rooms painted black and green.
warm and cold soup
both enjoyed with clammy hands.
tranquil bright landscapes sat outside
congested and sunburnt.
this creaking gate kept their speech
self-contained under skies where
predatory birds screamed
at the site of scattering rodents.
noon perhaps, or darkness was approaching?
nature and I entangled
in a silent bond.
