Porch

The screens keep out
cicadas, and crickets,
pesky mosquitoes,
but let in breezes,
song of rippling waters
flowing all around,
as my spirit flows
easily through my pen.
The table holds the candles,
holds the chairs together,
smoothed by conversations at dusk,
when the sun sinks slowly into the clouds
hovering above the river,
casts a golden shadow on the water
till it turns pink, glowing
like a companion
bringing wine to dinner,
champagne to toast the dawn.
And the sound of laughing,
soft touch of hands,
taste of tomatoes, and sweet corn,
zucchini and eggplant,
sautéed with friendly conversations
till smooth, and bubbling with cheese
served to all who gather,
to hold hands briefly
at the table,
inside this porch,
with the river flowing
all around.