Camping on the Patio

“Camping on the Patio,” New Era, Aug. 1992, 24

Camping on the Patio

On summer nights,

grass not yet damp,

we rest on our backs

before bed

letting the world,

everything that held us

down, take us with it,

the sky, each star

locked in its place,

turning. Heaven,

we called it.

One night, after a week

knotted with high winds,

we watched clouds pile up,

a known dark above us

collapsing to blackness.

We believed God was up there,

hidden. The rain broke

suddenly, we were soaked

before we could get up

and sprint to the house.

The lightning sky

flashed to us,

a moment of white.

This is what He looks like,

my brother said

as we ran to the porch.

Then again, another crack

backed by thunder

halved a changing dark.

We looked uneasy,

eyes blinded

as if God arrived.