it is here in the cool shadows of great old trees
in the lucid plain contentedness of late afternoon irresponsibility
in the dawn of spring with the winter frosts still splintering the air
it is here in, when it is safe to say that yes, yes
happiness is growing through the dirt once again
and up through our palms as we recline in the dry grass
it is here in perfect forgetfulness that you can become most visible
as if not a memory at all but instead an ignorance
as a smile is appearing and quieting the fever behind the eyes and tongue
it is in here you are here in all
but in here you are not here at all
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