Stitch

The begonias sit in careful rows
They line the porch
Soft as the purr of automobiles
A reassuring stitch in time
A quiet passing by
The doilies are dirty
We wipe them with water
All the better for serving tea
They suit the tablecloth
All blue and swirling tea pots
We work like assistants
Absorbed in our work and phobias
With a flash the candle puffs out
We grunt
Turn the key
The wind wails around our ears
Like gun shots
We stamp our feet to hide the sound
Stroke each others hair
Find a level rail on which to see each others eyes
The mass of people fades
We are back on the porch
Busy dreaming
Happy watering the flowers.