When I was young, the air was heavy with bees.
Honeysuckle yearned outside my window,
Its sweet blossoms heavy with the drone of sweet.
When I was young, the mornings stretched before me,
Wide as promises,
Clear as the open sky.
I stumbled from my sleep, and found:
Wet grass twined between my toes,
Small insects blessed my ankles, the birds
Claimed all mornings as their domain.
Later, when the sun rode high,
I felt the earth press strong against my back.
Knew in its solidity my own existence.
When rains came, they ripped their lightning from a heavy sky,
And drenched the world with cold, cold rain,
Then ceased again, as sudden and as sweet as thought.
When I was young, the evenings came too soon,
More fragrant even than the days, and soft
And harmless as a butterfly in flight.