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Porch Pew in Summer
-- for Brian and Wilbur Frink
Richard Robbins
Never a prayer for some place more than this,
wild turkeys in the field where old years blaze
each December into new, where grandkids
roam the drive now, in charge of cat, daisy,
spontaneous song. Any ten disciples
might take their rest on this long crafted oak
left to weather. Wine all around then, the spell
of day sinking in a gospel of talk.
And on quiet nights, painting or writing done,
the garden weeded, house projects holding
for the time being, two people might lean
to one another on the pew, holding
hands in the spreading dark, these few candles
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