It is a night
for sitting on the porch.
The night is soft
and there is a breeze about.
Soft. A love night. . .
How could it be better?
Only to share with an Other
whose eyes see as mine do;
the shapes of the trees
against the darkening sky.
The maples are round
like balloons;
the irregular Tamarac
whose wispy needles
look like bare branches.
The feel of the night
like a caress,
a loving touch,
a whisper.
