I step out on my porch near midnight


flecked by moon-made mica.

Cold, windless air - even

the roar of the woods

is faint tonight;

and faint, too,

the creak

of my leather jacket - faint

as the rigging of a galleon

heard across the seas of time....

While overhead

Orion faintly flickers.

(c) Copyright 2000. The Christian Science Publishing Society

You've read  of  free articles. Subscribe to continue.