Three urns beneath windowsill
in this house, sun set bottom
left, east/west, west/east....
Perhaps by attire, how dishes
hap-hazard write the kitchen table, time....
Conversations surface, dive, dive, dive!
Forty years are strobed onto
smoke screen, each moment falling
from the imperfect linear —
and these arms (one in shadow)
are feathered into empty/full —
sunlight through an open window.