the rain fell quickly this evening
just after you would’ve come to the porch
flowers danced as drops landed on petals
leaves of our Chinese maple hissed
it’s so big now, and I remember how
when we moved in you could see over it
to the side street across the way
now past the roof it blocks our view
so we pretend we’re in the country
instead of a subdivision on the outskirts
our neighbors wave in between the tree
and the gap still there for our walkway
it’s ideal really, not too closed in
certainly not open open enough that
everyone can glimpse our personal space
it affords us the time to bond between
that imaginary home place inside a door
and the unknown world outside beyond
screens we put up to separate them
it’s, in truth, a compromise
thats not as bad as it sounds
when the rain hisses and the lights go out