Seventeen stories high
metal blinds flutter
as their window’s breeze fills the room.
clink clink clink
go delicate blades,
whose feather-light touches gift perspective –
ah, yes, in some state or other,
even sturdy things get moved.
Gray, plush, padded fiber
collects tufts of white fur
from the dog who stands guard,
seated, above seven hundred feet square,
the space she now calls home.
a bag and two coats
mark the return of a family who,
cozied up to their four-legged friend,
fear the loss of somewhere they can’t return.
If only they could view instead
the place they’ve arrived
through the eyes of their companion.
Tucked within six wooden drawers,
loose papers document life here and there,
before it will be forgotten.
Each one meticulously chosen,
for while there was little space,
each one, too, traveled many miles
to make a home in this corner of the world.