I’ll leave the light one

Solemn and sacred weathered old bones.
This porch and I are aging together.

With each rendition I am seeing deeper into the soul of this house.
Stripping both of us down below the public layers.
Down to where the paint is chipped from a hundred squalls
and pressure points have been worn down to the raw umbering wood
by so many gentle shoves.
Our rusty spots break through with rich sienna contrasts
to the greying and gritty cedar.
With walls that could tell almost all of our secrets . . .

we both lean at odd angles into the wind.