View from a Tree

He closes the door
to his gray sedan.
I watch him, walking
with his keys dangling.

I think of him
as a friend most times.
When he looks at me,
standing by the post,
he smiles.

On warm summer days,
a bit of food we will share.
I often imagine him, running
his hands through my hair.

I watch him through the
windows with envy.
Thinking of his home
so close to mine,
my Ricardo.

With a heavy heart I
retreat when it gets dark.
I lay in my bed, thinking
of him as I fall asleep.

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