-This poem reflects on the lingering evening light of early summer, when the day feels reluctant to end and the porch becomes a place of warmth, pause, and quiet fullness.
The evening holds a little more,
than any clock would think to keep,
gold resting on the porch rail still,
while shadows lengthen through the yard.
The chairs sit quiet in the glow,
the steps stay warm beneath bare feet,
and all the day that came with sun,
seems slow to loosen from the boards.
No single hour can name this grace,
not day, not dusk, not fully night,
just this bright pause the season gives,
before the dark completes its work.
So much of summer gathers here,
not only heat, but what remains,
the light still living after light,
the world unwilling yet to close.