Heading Home

From the window of my father’s car Golden hairs upon my arm, corn silks blowing in the wind, Wave goodbye to summer. Hair, now gold to silver grain Receding now, I’m leaving, once again. A thumbing mind goes flipping past Garages, stores, and street-lamps, fast as ages mirrored in the storefronts Move my life’s reflection through each passing windows' glass Lying on a beach I look at clouds Hands held high, fingers pointing, Watching through these sunlit tears The close encounters I have had With love.