Porch sitting,
a cigarette lit between my index and middle,
as usual.
Safari sitting beside me,
unable to comprehend the world around fully,
startled by the noises that night carries on.

"Leave where you're at."
"No."
I commend the brave souls, who face this earth.
As for souls similar,
the screened in area at the back of the house, is home.

The moon's radiance shedding on the sky,
the crickets howling,
Safari, still scared.
Another night, with another cigarette.
The white wicker chair is still, home.

"Carry on, walk away."
"Never."
The heart lies in the grass,
five shades darker than five hours ago.
The soul carries this landscape.
The white concrete floor, home.