Wealthy Study

Fierce light through ancient louvers,
Sun of a high desert day,
Wheat gold on worn-smooth pine floor. . .

Let’s just stay here in this chair,
In this room we’ll never own,
With this rhythmic hour on loan.

It’s laced with light but shadowed
Enough to convey constant
Room temperature still rules.

You take off your shoes to feel
The cool, smooth, slightly waxy
Slide of the floor, but the light

Remains sternly antique. Maybe
You really do own this sun
And this hour was always yours.