just like a dream to me.

the old wicker chairs out on the back porch
sing sweet home louisiana,
catching and filtering sticky-sweet sunlight.
you throw a few wilted roses back out into the yard
-- the same color as the tomatoes
growing by the side of the house --
and turn to the window,
you watch the light catch in the colors
of the empty mason jars on the windowsill and
turn red and blue and orange.
laughter and a smile drift by, darting
like fireflies.