This Cool August Morning
is a call to the blood,
the air sweet and alive
with delicate motion:
fragrance, light, color,
sound, memory, longing.
I feel it in my lungs,
my muscles, my bones.
It quakes on my tongue,
makes pilgrims of my
nameless, wayward fingers.
Some call it hope,
some call it change.
I call it home, the pain
and joy of knowing.
August 11, 2006
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