Lemon verbena in the bathroom, dry Saint Augustine grass outside. My feet have not felt it in six years, have not stood beneath the night sky for days.
Thirty-one days without rain.
A rugged plain, a whistling wind that blows without burning, strangely. Love rattles through dry leaves, takes moments to reach you, can be heard before it is felt.
Sweet Gulf shrimp, sopaipilla, laughing and jelly beans and a need for affirmation.
Now, all dishevely, dance on the still-warm pavement, dance beautiful, dance foolish and grin at your shadow. Laugh to the sky above, finally lie down in the driveway and drink the tipping-glass moon. Sing until you have no more to sing, and then be still.
His wings, His refuge, are warmer than you thought, can be wide open spaces behind bars. After tears come quiet and a smile of,
“You have given me hope, and hope was all I needed.”
This is the land my heart wanted to feel home in.