one chair...

the life of this chair....

housing the floor with four legs and one seat above

there is nothing across or aside...this space remains filled with wanting stare

level with table, level with air

even with time

uneven with lines

the ones a mind will draw when stories are looking for a second teller

sit and glare

the window bares broken pains

much further than back....at you

drawing shades and changing watts wont shed light on what's missing

one chair, stamped, posted, rarely more than scraped back and forth 

from that level air...its neighbored and crippled floor

one look across the love with no one else

your eyes are starting to carry this balance

one, so oddly embraced by unbalance...

of barely one and so not two...accepting a love so unevenly believed in...