april

here in the cruelest of months
the air has come alive once more
the cracks in the sidewalk begin cracking
as if the real world was desperately trying to break up through the ground
the smell of adventure comes with the overhanging grey clouds
heavy with rain

the unfamiliar is calling with a voice welcome
as the sound of the tracks two miles from a childhood house
or the laughter of a close friend
the sweet unknown
as water running
down
from
the mountain of abundant life
caught among the ripples

freedom lives in the mist and the morning light,
and dies by the evening
thank G-d for the mercy of the sunrise
new every morning

run away;
call it what you will;
but this heart is on its way
to pumping new blood
into old veins;
these lungs on their way
to breathing new breath;
these eyes, so tired, on their way
to setting with the sun in a land of a new light;
these feet on their way
to stepping with the eager rhythm of new movement;
these ears on their way
to hearing words never heard
before or since
and so it begins

this heart on its way
to pumping new blood
into old veins
here in the cruelest of months