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
