I sit on the swing on my front porch,
Watching light meander down through Mulberry,

Black cherry,
Red Oak,
Maple,
River Birch,
Some other scraggly saplings
I’ve let struggle up without identifying.
I know my older neighbor down the way wonders
Why I’ve let the green grow
A curtain around my house.
I wanted to,
Simple as that.
I like the wild, singing leaves
more than the buildings and people.
So,
I swing on the porch,
Just the light, the leaves, and me.