My new boyfriend had an endless name, purple, the color of mimulus. Groups of people who waited on porches for the same number of years. He was one of them, the 52 club. Driving through small town streets with big plants & porches, summer fishing in the stream, families waiting on porches. Sleep on blue porch but not waiting, or not forever, it's not raining. What do crickets do when it rains? The first katydid in my hear standing in the dark field, smothered in dark clouds, no meteors, occasional bat, flash, maple trees dense & nightly. Crickets bright, all night, fireflies hiding on porches, behind people, in jars, waiting. Bluejay painting, blue 4th Street hallway painting. Sophie, please make a blue porch painting, a blue like the best boat, or a morning glory. A blue that Hector would love, one we all aspire to. That's it —the porch is like a boat. Even when it's not raining, there's always rain, like typing. Sleep-typing &  sleep-smoking & sleep-reading, gently rocking on little waves, it might be time to return. Write rhymes not times, creep silently on the typewriter, little bug, it's a dream of thoughtlessness.