The Morning Porch

Dave Bonta May 23, 2021

The dame’s-rocket is at its height; my overgrown front yard is the equal of any garden. The catbird seems to concur.

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Between moonset and dawn, a dark hour filled with the sound of freight trains. I hold my head still to watch Venus slip through the…
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Sky the color of faded jeans. It’s cold. The crash of a dead limb falling from the treetops where two female squirrels are eluding suitors.
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