Front Porch
Sunday night is beautiful,
perfect end-of-the week night.
the half moon lifts
from behind a cloud
into a flat, pale slice of light.
I stood on the porch staring out at
miles and miles of endless space
stretched in front of me.
I drink up the night
I didn't go back inside, just stood
in the flow of a slight wind that
ruffled my hair is like my grandmother’s
touch.
All my worries and troubles were lost.
Monday morning appeared to be years away.
Wandering
Wandering
on my own
Without anyone
To notice where I go
Without any worry
Or when I come home
Wandering
whispers of warm air sigh on my face
Like a friend,
Like a secret lover
softly to me
Wandering
inside myself
Inside my thoughts
My nose flares
My eyes close
My future lies deeply in the afternoon.
Long Sunday Breakfast
On a journey
to a warm, comfortable place.
Where sausage and eggs are
ready to be consumed with relish.
Traces of hot coffee and fresh cinnamon rolls
lure me into a estacy
The face of Sunday comics is open
and smiles at me.
Sun allows itself to emerge
from the trees.
Late June
Everything is full of promise.
Sunday morning nourishes me.
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