Poem: August 2, 2019

Sitting Still

For a few minutes here,
around the fire pit, and
maybe a bit blurred
with wine, you might
forget that we are living
in the middle of town
because up there in
the neighbors' oak tree
you can see the outline
of a bard owl against
the dark blue evening
sky, and crickets hum
over the sounds of traffic
on highway 41 and
the lights from the alley
behind the house have
yet to kick on even
though it's almost dark
and the fire is lit, and
the smoke crowds out
the smell of trash cans
and grass clippings,
and the neighbors are
all inside their houses,
so you and I are far
away and alone and
reflecting the firelight,
still and smiling and
just barely leaning in.