Affection is sap enough
to keep you on the porch
swing during a soaking
rain. The work
of leveling grass,
the knocking off
of contour, is complete.
There’s a beer that gets
in the sway, an easiness
as legs instinctively set
our motion, a moment
that children sleep on.
Soon the electricity
will run away, keeping
us on the porch a little
while longer, the webbed
night clouds passing
through the moon.
There’s no hoping this
to happen, no planning
to listen outside of life,
beyond the numbers,
to a descending of love,
which isn’t nearly
the gift of being needed.
Each house signals its
attendance with candle
light. Come quietly
to the street. We are
breeze enough for all.