Last summer

I sit cross legged,
angled on the wall of my balcony,
brushing my teeth.
Last summer,
I had detached a glass pane
from my window
and placed it
in my balcony-
I see a tree rhythmically,
melodiously, swaying in it.
Its nostalgic, melancholic
how it undulates
at another
cusp of summer,
late in the afternoon
as my mouth
becomes full of
white silica foam.
The breeze is lukewarm
and the wall bears
no sign of Sun.
Suddenly, the clouds shift,
the Sun emerging
jostling away from the
blue and silver clouds
and the glass pane
shines,
a mocking and ludicruous sheen
drowning
the music of the trees
with its gaudy gesture.