Lying on the porch with clouds sculpting mythical floats
and a mourning dove’s reedy song:
sounding trees whistling from deep within their roots.
.
We are out in the free-fall of evening light
spilling onto the crowding field daisies
my daughter clumped in the canning jar.
We are all here together: laying, reading, dozing
and all together peaceful
as the guests of His peace;
loungers on His eternal porch.
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