Wednesday, March 14, 2012

Amazing Grace

I stop stirring the pot

or sweeping the floor

or watching TV
and hasten to the porch.

A brilliant copper torch
blazes in the window 

on the hill above.

As if the sun in its descent 
came crashing through the glass
and set that house on fire.

It happens most every night. 

And most every night

I hasten to the porch

or I think about it

and tonight

write a poem about it.

Copyright (c) 2012 Ellen McCarthy. All rights reserved.