Is there something to be said for being
On a balcony which overlooks the Sound
And the Olympics on its other side?
There is. I once enjoyed that view,
But that was many years ago. Now,
I lack the millions which would place
Me where I was before, and I, instead,
Survey the prairie, less dramatic, maybe,
But proportionately picturesque. What
Matters most is not the vista. It's
The viewer's state of mind, and here,
Among the close-cropped fields,
The clots of red and yellow leaves,
My mind's death grip begins
To loosen. What I cannot see, I set
Adrift, and, though this empty land
Is nothing like my former home,
I call it good enough.