Plaka
A man has been painting
his balcony white
for hours in the heat.
He uses a smaller brush
for the blue shutters
and takes off his shirt
to smoke a cigarette
which he holds between
his lips (not once
does it leave his mouth).
He is so well practiced at this
it almost feels devotional.
I can see the sweat on his body
from one building over
standing on my own balcony
watching him, thinking about
how my life is so unlike his.
I wish he could paint all of me
with that kind of attention
but he doesn’t notice anyone.
He doesn’t look across
or up or toward anything here.
He doesn’t need God. He just knows
where the paint is going.
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Alex, you're the best at this. xxxx
What a peaceful thing, to simply be focused on one thing!