Out on the Porch

This day, this afternoon, is getting tired.

Chairs rock in absent-minded wind. Chimes clink.

Two tree frogs, green as mint leaves, sit and stare

at nothing in particular. Things slow.

Beyond the bluegrass, bleached to summer-blond,

a rural paradise replete with ruins,

boarded up houses holding their indiscretions

tightly behind the bug-infested wood.

Half-painted barns and plows put out to pasture -

O fits and false starts, O luminous endings.

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