Where I Go

I write on a laptop in my living room
on an Eames lounge, legs stretched
across to the ottoman, laptop across
my thighs, it is afternoon. I open the
front door to circulate the stale air,
I look at the laptop screen as I type
but the screen reflects what is behind me
out my front door. I'm looking at a screen
full of letters but in the corner there is blue,
the leaves of a lemon tree swaying,
electricity moving through power lines,
planes flying overhead,
the image blurs as I type the keys, focuses,
blurs again.

It would seem if you saw this as if I was
looking forward but really, the world
is behind me.