As I sit here on this crooked porch 

all evening sun and warbling birds

my face flush with urgent wine

sun kissing the sky goodnight

the hair on my neck sits up a little straighter now 

applauding the symphony in the trees

I can hear the laughter and the thumps

inside the house our little cubs bounce

Ewoks tumbling into each other 

without the faintest hint that all this, too 

will someday pass.

And when that day comes, like me, they'll wonder, 

into what tunnel did all this time tumble?

and worse —

how do we return to its big embrace

so simple, so warm, so safe.

So here I am, feet up, lips pinot-purple

putting fire to this joint

and stuck in my head even now,  

pointing to all the ways

I'll ache for this time once again --

once again,

missing the entire fucking point.