#bicycle #italy #sea #seaside
When the Moon moves between our Sun, Earth and up-raised eyes, through the long-held breath of our wisdom-keepers,
It’s an early Spring morning of bellsong and birdsong, sunsong
Sunny jaunts, now-and-again treats, with cousins, siblings; and parents along but somehow invisible.
It arrives on a warm white cloud. It arrives on soft rolls of ocean waves along a sand pebbled shore. It arrives on a bed
Yes. And the rivers. The wind and the rain. The wildflowers. The marshes
My body. Outstretched. On a deck. Between the Sky and the Earth.
Quite a sight to behold: a woman of sun, reclining on the grass, in a meadow, abundantly recumbent, hair and limbs lush with heat
While the town sleeps and dreams behind me. And pined islands lay silently, invisibly off the salt-tongued shore.
Circa ‘50s Wichita. Your mother, Gladys, going for her blue rinse,
Each time you breathe in the Earth’s air, the life-giving air, you breathe out a cocktail of
As I awakened to this morning, eyes still closed, I was thinking of you, long-gone Mom and Dad,
The keys to the house, or car. The address of a restaurant. The grocery list. The name of a tree or bird or passing acquaintance.
While countries, armies and ideologies battle, bees make honey. Butterflies float, and drink the nectar from gently open flowers.
At precisely 9.25. When the moon, the first and most abundant one of the new year,
After all the rain monsooning through the day, cascading through the leaves of the still—green— with-Summer trees.