He was outside
on the patio
under the soft moonlight
a small
white wicker chair
sat in the corner
pressed in the floor
indenting scuffs
creaking
and squeaking
next to it
a janky table
held high
and thin
with metal legs
like needles
that smelled
of zinc
sits a leather cigarette pouch
brown and aging
with a copper button
it's skin peeling off
at its edges
and a wooden ashtray
off center on the table
ash split
and sprinkled amongst the table surface
and onto the ground
the patio window,
almost rectangular in shape
but curved
with it's reach
unveiling the view of the night sky
the stars glittering
where city lights don't pollute
the cold
end of the night
air
There is something
Mystical
And omniscient
About the stars
Their bright
Place
