#13 All The Light

Twilight. Moonlight. Junelight.
The light's lovely this time of year.
She walks home alone like always,
buys ice cream on the corner. Next door,
the neighbors rock on their porch swing,
holding hands and dozing.
She tends to romanticize the unromantic,
a kind of daily survival mechanism.
In her altered reality,
she stretches out to sleep on the bed,
where he lies sprawled next to her,
moonlight guarding both of them.
Twilight. Moonlight. Junelight.