80/twenty

Floors above in the urban canopy, I see me in this evening reflection. The cities bright night lights twinkle beyond the glass.

So benign in the day, my window and my beautiful view, but in the evening there I am clear as the image in a mirror.  I think of myself over the years, swiveling on an Aeron chair as the clock moves past the twilight hour, when the window closes back on me.

Watching myself age in that reflection, it is not enough.