Like Saturdays should be.
Clouds of rain linger
turn the garden into mist
there is no view
where the ocean used to be
is a long queue
of fog, one after another
waiting for you to be bothered
by the nonexistent view
but secretly, you don't care
because behind closed doors
is where you hide
the fire makes a crackling sound
a bottle of red wine
is emptied under loud laughter
philosophical talks and insights
because inside
we wash away the earth
from our hands
cut the carrots we picked
make the meat sizzle
pet the dog
cover ourselves with blankets
tell stories until
the day is gone.