Is There A Word?

Is there,
a word,
for when you lie under
the gleaming eyes of God, feeling like a pinprick on the hillside,
and your heart and lungs swell up like
the pale, hanging moon
as you taste the sticky, honey-dipped countryside air?

Is there a word
for the way the rain yelps on a slanted, red tin roof
at a summer-hour past midnight and the sound reaches out
and rescues you from sleep
like the gentle, wrinkled, ringed hands of your mother?

And is there
a word
for the sound a baby makes when he laughs
at made-for-baby faces
and even the slightest bubble-chuckle
can cause you to long for a way to visit a point in your past-life,
just to start over, just to make things right?

And is there a word
for lifelong friends that drift apart on the ever-churning
Seas of Time
even after they swore to each other that they never would?
Or for the star-crossed lovers in their parents' garden
that savor every soft lip-seal kiss and every
timid-trembling touch
like Manna?

Do you know the word for these things
that each of us knows but cannot define,
that that are common yet uncatchable like sand?
For it is the sweetest and cruelest,
the most silent and the most rancourous,
and I,
have been calling it Life.