Diana and the Empire of Scrabble

There’s a fire in the bird bath
and honeysuckle’s sweet winding vine
shares with the air

Green July tucks into this river town and soppily fits into the lush maws of summer

Ice, like bergs float in individual whiskey seas

Sliding, white tiles and guitar mix with the slow swing of twilight’s hammock 

Words make words make words make laughter on our faces and
raise up debates and healthy discourse round our wrought iron table

And as fire flickers and warm things fly

A hush descends
and only our wooden worded empire remains