Hadley Hury’s most recent poem to appear here was “Old Friends” (July 2016) 

Screens
By Hadley Hury

When the last light has seeped from the screened porch
and the trees begin to silhouette themselves
against the slice of peach that is the moon
we too assume a somewhat transformed mien

as now and then for moments at a time
we gaze into devices in our palms,
our faces glowing like the augurs of old
who bade signs and tidings from the air.
And when we then abjure this rough magic’s
addictive mesmerizing lure and settle back
into our chairs and sigh and sip our drinks
and deeply breathe the laden beauties of

the summer night enfolding us we become
the generations who have for years before us
sat beneath such gently churring fans,
and in low tones we speak with idleness
of this or that and then for moments at a time
join in a perfect silent intimacy,
as cicadas and and crickets sing all around
and fireflies dancing just off the porch and
farther out among the trees gone indigo
make magic with no beginning and no end.