The absence of remorse visits seldom,
so when it does:
note the smell of cold air in sun.
Shine a light into the eyes of every met seeker
just because in heart we share the glittering day
where even pavement seems perfect,
and you walk from deep inside a vibrating body,
atoms dancing their on/off dervish
in turning fall colors. At foot step
hear each tree, each leaf that jumps out at you.
You know as sure as this/that such joy passes
(though, when golden bean fields leave you gasping
and the very thrill of breath is no cliché
you want it to last forever,)
know too, like harvest moons in orbit, it will,
yes it will come ‘round again flashing,
pounding every cell and tread
with the rightness of being.