Against a bare plaster wall
Against a bare plaster wall a questionable tracery of milky green light undulates. Pressed against the opposite wall, your buttocks forced outward to the water stained plaster, your arms splayed outward with fists loosely curled, your feet stacked in grey canvas shoes, on your side, you are. In an alcove, low, above the high water line, far enough to only see dry between the outdoor walls and off to the low horizon of your alley eyes on concrete, you gaze awake into the palazzo courtyard from the alcove floor. It is there that you spend the night.