i am not from here, i
belong not with overalled men and rusty
tractors, with chewed tobacco, with
field after field, with
ramshackle

i am from there, that
skyscrapered city, that
sidewalked suburb, that
redwood forest, that
long road trip through the heart and to the outskirts
of america

but i find myself settled,
static, a home
owner here

i feel out of place in this
antirace, this
praried flinthilled place, this
supermarket parking lot full of old trucks
place, this
wide open space

but i am here
not knowing for how long i am
here...

and i can lament and give way to
memories of life more involved, more
fluid, farther away from
hicks and haystacks, from
crafty knicknacks

or i can rest, let
my soul find a bit of peace in these
rolling hills, these
endless clouds, these
rivers feeding trees at their banks

i can choose to
give thanks, i can
learn to live in
the moment without
regret

even

here.