Upstate Window Seat Poem by Brian Murphy

The cold nylon cushion numbs my bare legs
A soothing autumn breeze pushes through the screen
The smell of burning wood fills my head with a sultry musk
Yet the purple horizon seems unusually flat and drawn back
Lower than ever, it taunts me by escaping normality
What is a sky
Where does it end
What truly lies beyond its limits,
What keeps those boundaries secure?
Although sweat begins to bead from my legs
The nylon continues to feel crisp and cold
The sky remains as my focal point,
Capturing every ounce of attention