Going Home

Sweetness drips, roosts on the edge
of the blade, and my feet
aren’t hurt.
Finding a multitude at any given
moment, I am undone, orbiting on
an imaginary hammock, swinging
and creating my own breeze.  I gaze
up to see the v-shaped geese,
flying to the same place at perfectly
spaced intervals.
I was born when mayflowers bloom
at the tender edge of spring and am
fully alive when foliage is under
direct siege of the sun. I will walk among
greens, warm toes on bare
concrete. I have spent too many days
away from crickets. I’m coming home.
You’ll find me under the Alabama moon,
where my heart still lies beating. Don’t leave
until I can come. Wait for me,
I’m coming home, I’ll be there before
summer ends.


With my hand on the door, I push
ever so slightly, and the new kingdom
is there. I see the greens, the tenders,
the lights of the endless summer, the
glow of eternal beauty, a delight, a
magnificent feast of flowers in every
color. Look for me here. I’ll be waiting.

©prasanta 2013