crashing

All of the world is crashing -
they say
bit do break off my porch
sometimes, when it rains

(and then one day,
the warm arms close in
like a country song on a warm night,
the small things after all
the dust has settled
make a mockery of thought
and will and action)

meanwhile, slow bricks
and pansies flowering
breath their
precious optimism

my little eyes, my few
steps, cannot
it seems, confirm
either way
whether or not
we are crashing -

it seems less likely
on sunny days.