The One on the Front Porch

you feel like a stranger in a familiar place.
it feels something like distance.

a stretching, yawning distance that you find
you can hang safely above and gaze down into.
a hollow spreads and rises in your abdomen.

everything is still in the sunset;
it’s quiet outside and the air stirs only a little.
shafts of soft light fall through the clouds
and onto the grass and sidewalk in front of your house.

looking at the front door across the street
the orange light slowly bleeds out of the day.