It’s an almost day—
almost perfect, almost nothing missing:
the sky a pure untainted blue,
just what I want on this particular afternoon;
the garden glowing its green at me
while the bold pink petals of the bougainvillea
in a brilliant merging of chaos and order
hang with ease from the sumac tree.
The blaze of fuchsia in the corner of our yard
has sparked some flames on the date palm, too.
But no one beside me on the garden swing—
just when I’m wishing someone were here
to fill the empty spot on the cushion.
To swing in that barely perceptible way
while, silent or not,
we sip together on ice water
freshened with cucumber slices,
though it’s more about the hand on the glass
than the drink itself.
About a friend to witness this scene with me—
a backdrop for us
while we speak of things
unrelated to beauty.


© by Lori Levy.
Used with the author’s permission.