Porch

Copyright © 2009 Ernest Bloom (20090504).

If we could sit on
one porch and watch the sun
settle down and sink beyond
the brink of the world,
if we, you and I, could see
one time from your porch the colors
of the sky cycle through the pastel spectrum,
and feel the cool come rising with the transpiration
of the plants below the porch, the green plants that sigh
at the approach of the night, and watch the stars emerge,
one by one, emboldened (as we are) by Venus, if we could,
if we could. . . .

We can. We do.

We sit, we two, you and I
one time, you and I, right there, right
now, no matter how far apart our bodies are, no
matter what miles, what pressures, what burdens,
what obligations, no matter that the sun went down
hours ago. We sit together, you and I, now, with our
wine glasses, and we feel the cool come up, and we
watch the colors, now fading, now fading away,
and all those stars, and the sudden whoosh of an owl,
white meteor streaking out beyond your porch, and I
touch your hand, and you move the glass to the other one, and I
point out heroes written into the heavens, but really words,
like always, have no real weight or meaning at all.