The sky’s a mix of clouded white and blue,
the neighbors are inside or gone to work,
and the sun shining through the blinds slides onto my hand
up to the wrist, and I sit, alive. Something stirs
inside me like drums calling a piper close behind
and all their song reaching for hands
and feet to dance, to run without looking, child’s play:
can it be, can this be joy, must joy be
the smile you cannot hold back, or can it
be the hidden smile that goes back ages to a time inside
another time, a day on a land not home
but where you belong, a smile you’ll never forget
but cannot remember, a smile that did not smile

but stood tall and stared straight and felt strong,
for I, too, know that to feel strong is to be strong
and to be free is to be timeless and to be happy
is to see the moment from deep inside, to find
a joy, a smile, a hand, a dance, a song
that lives far away and here, that stirs you
but lets you remain, but wants you to remain.