Elizabeth Romero: Summer Afternoon

At the furthest point there are clouds

And more clouds and then the hill

All crunchy green, then buildings

Nearer and nearer, perfectly factual

Dark empty windows and the flats of roofs

Telephone lines, electrical lines, television antennas

Open doors and ragged hedges

Perfectly real and solid

Cars, flies, mailboxes, the porches

Of the neighbors, nearer and nearer

To this porch rail, this porch where my plants wave

Feathery and fine, the chipped floor

Under my feet

Now

Three birds pursue each other tiny and black

Across the sky, my feet

Press downward and from the center

Of my being outward there is

The palpable world

Floors, plants, porches, cars, buildings

Birds and the sky and what they are

And what I am and what happens

Is all there is

Copyright 2018 Elizabeth Romero