The real world

ImageSomeday, your father will
build me a sunroom
with his hands.

His sweat steadily
dripping, devoted to crafting
contentment in my soul.

And when the screens
keep the flies from filling
our minds with swarming,
buzzing reminders,

the three of us
will sit and sip
sweet tea together there.

And in the cool, quiet,
aqua dusk of summertime,
we will drift away

and sleep there,
the rhythm of cicadas
rocking away everything
but the world,

the real one,
the one God made
forĀ the three of us.