Thursday, 24 June 2010

Fireflies instead of stars

The porch could tell there were three of us. No one stood or sat very long. No one rocked. The moon lit her eyes when she bent over the rail. We were out of cups. She made up the sofa. He whistled at the dog licking the tailgate. The flashlight lay between us, black without the white of a current event.


Parker Tettleton
August Light

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