The Porch

A breeze bedazzling through the trees.

Waves gentle against the shore of a dark night.

A phoebe calling. A dog snapping her teeth.

Maple branches grow flush against the screen,

From two weeks of steamy rain.

Soft pine needles downy like, in the distance.

I am trying to pay closer attention to what is

Closer attention to the deep green moss

Growing on the thick tree bark.

Where did I get the impression trees were brown? Instead,

Decidedly, a hundred shades of gray.

 

@ Susan Lynn Gesmer, The Porch, Summer, 2005, Goshen, Massachusetts

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