Sometimes Visible

by Robin Fulton Macpherson

Ground floor, like living beneath
high walls. I don’t see much
of the sun and other stars
rotating on their poles. Now
cars parked for the night are like
furniture draped in pale sheets
while the owners seem far off
(and may not come back at all).
In the smallest of small hours,
between roof edges, between
blizzards, a sudden full moon
lays diamond shaped slabs of light
on my floor. They don’t last long,
enough though to remind me
of forgotten other lives,
sometimes visible, sometimes not.