I love it here at Gloria's

The birds are always coming out of the sofa

and the banana ears out of the yard—

the sun out of the sky

and the cold out of the shadows.

It is a stair-master, treadmill of a city—

up and down, thither and yon

The efficiency of the lungs is challenged

and the feet pounded into stumps.

The Boy King is engrossed in work and ideas—

busy cells of creativity and code.

He delivers interesting discoveries and salmon

in equal measure.

The Bride is half CEO of the home

keeping the cable car on the rails

and half her own flagship of resourcefulness

and strength.

The dog loves me: I walk to Billy Goat Hill

and throw the ball in the yard.

Sometimes we share the backseat

on the way to the beach.

Tip-toeing around pre-established routines,

I see new tendrils of connection

ever wary of my role and

deciphering the necessary level of my opacity.

I love it here at Gloria's.