Again, it Arrives

A longing for what begins anew.

     In the quiet mid-morning

thoughts echo in the chamber

of the hollow sanctuary of life,

my mind aches with want,

my body surrenders willingly,

even my soul sits in silence

parched from the dry winter

that gave my bones the gift of ache

and demanded the fee of excitement.

    Out into the vibrant world

I have sent my dreams just to never

have them return to me again,

but memory, memory returns daily,

moments harassed by a longing,

a brief visit to the disturbed ground

the roots still buried beneath the soil,

from what was a very tall tree

under which I used to sit

in the quiet mid-morning.

     In the quiet mid-morning

while imagining the purpose

of my glorious arrival,

it became clear that this moment

was mine and it's arrival

brought me something precious:

a small measure of comfort.