It Beckons Me

It beckons me, that call of the wild,

while I move between these manmade rooms,

beneath artificial lights, breathing recycled air.

My nostrils flare with the scent

of dewdrops and pine tar;

my skin prickles with the memory

of crisp autumn winds under a radiant sun

as banks of puffed clouds float by.

My feet search for blades of grass and warm earth

as they walk dully over paved and poured surfaces.

I glide through traffic in a compacted

box of metal and plastic and rubber,

one ant in an anonymous army,

a spec from above.

I hear it whispering above the non-stop hum

generated from constant motion and endless need -

the crackling of twigs underfoot,

the trickle...

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