Monday, September 07, 2009


Body in morning
fumbles for coffee and keys -
urban habits in a rural skin -
considers time found,
time lost,
and listens as nature procures
a home-made breakfast.

Body in morning
finds old roads etched into her bones,
old trails whispering their welcome.

Refusing to burn the day with regret,
those bones strike out for home
and find themselves in a world of green,
of galax and mountain laurel -
the faint smell of Christmas.

Water and soul rise,
journey upward in a haze of remembering,
then descend in joyous song
on ancient boulevards
of stone and psalm.

(E.Rand, August 2009)

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1 comment:

Juli said...

This is glorious.