Porch Light

Late summer, early evening bat
picks off no-see-ums
under circling swallows,
once again humidity reminds me
what i have in common with Banderas
is sticky t-shirts and jeans.

I down a bucket of iced hibiscus
and plot pennant races,
eager beaver stars
pop between whispering clouds,
ain't nothing here to hold
til it turns blue,
everythings numbered,
even the days til the stitches
come out of my dog's eye.

The command is to be still
and know which side the Bread of Life
is buttered on. Easier to face
in the face of a breeze, cricket chorus and solo
frog adding harmony to 
folded hands and bending knee.

Porch light plays out the night,
waiting for the prodigal,
robe folded in my lap,
the weight of a ring
turning cool in my palm.