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.