Parallax

The sun lounges on high,
reclined,
resting its legs
on ottoman clouds.
I watch it doze,
drifting off myself,
in a hammock,
the gentle river air
caressing my hair
and cooling my cheek.

For you the sun is already sinking
from its reverie on high,
to stalk the street corners
and lurk the alleys,
its last shady dealings
before crawling behind the world.

Parallax,
a different point of view.
I wish you could see it
where
I am.