Sanctuary II
I stroll wearing soft sole tennis shoes on my patio.
The sun having set and the moon now enthroned within this night’s sky.
Gone is the radiant heat blistering midday. My newly erected cedar fence
creates enclosure. Herein, I find sanctuary. Herein, I find refuge.
Herein, I commune with creation.
The smell of freshly cut and plied cedar accentuates my senses.
Solar lights on fence posts sit like crowns illuminating sentinels standing guard
at Buckingham Palace. Here sits no array of patio furniture. Just one
comfortable chair. Gate closed. Night cool. Just me and that
heavy hanging moon overhead.
© emmett wheatfall
Comments
Post a Comment
I cannot speak for my poetry, my poetry must speak for itself.