Porch Song

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Summers were made for this —

the trees a fringe of shadows

in a deepening amethyst sky,

an oaky crispness on the tongue

and a cicada canzonet to catch

the scent of secret longings,

the rush of unlatched words

while our laughter floats,

a raft of stars, across the

broken world.

6 thoughts on “Porch Song”

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