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.
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