There’s too much sunlight.
The sky’s too deep blue.
Air sits still and glutinous
and the birds have gone quiet.
Passing tourists are briefly loud though.
Towels worn like cloaks and
obligatory American baseball caps.
Their swearing spoils my contemplation
of the pale blue painted beams
of my ceiling. Cracked old powdery paint.
The tourists pass and that barking dog
and buzzing hedge trimmer
also fade to far away abstractions.
In this extended space I swap the universe
for a calmer place where sounds are
distant and soothing sleep creeps over me
like hot fog.