Fallen hearts glad

There we were


in a snug swing


Watching the west

from our friend’s parent’s porch

the most hospitable folks

even in their absence



We had nothing to do

to read, to go to, to be, to talk about

nothing to do but be alive


We drank wine

and watched the birch row swaying in

come what may

and laughed at being alive


At being full up. To the brim. With love.