Because though I am weary
and drawn to an easy sanctuary — a glass of wine
from a walled-in comfort, the noise of a stuporous screen —
an ample otherness beckons
— the sun-crisped air, the wisps of pink
racing toward a translucent moon.
And I am lacing up my sneakers, slipping
on a light sweater and walking out the door.
Out, where a blond giggling girl is being scooped
into her father’s arms, in a dance of floating limbs.
Out, where a block party is packing up its fervor
though leaving is a chatty, reluctant loop in a lazy sidewalk parade.
Out, where kids shoot hoops, ride their bikes
in slow circles, plot tomorrow’s adventures in bare feet
and merry bands, with giddy dreams scenting their skin.
I walk longer and farther than I planned,
measuring thick breaths — breaths full of creeping phlox and bleeding heart,
of trout lilies flapping their song.
Beneath a weeping willow, a wicker loveseat and table seduce with their tableau.
A kiddie pool sits in a front yard where women roost on the stoop.
They wave a vigorous hello.
Dogs loll in grassy patches, purpose abandoned in collisions
with strangers and neighbors who know only their names.
And everywhere, winter’s goodbye unfurls
— spools out ribbons of emerald and shamrock, juniper and fern,
streams an aching finery.
I drink in the crush of magnolia and cherry,
pluck every laugh, every honey-soaked word from eager mouths,
stitch them into my steps,
as the day tilts toward a blushing sky and against these bones,
a forgotten lullaby swells,
hymn of redolent earth and waxing night,
of how, once more, we begin.