The Curtains

The curtains fluttered–ephemeral, flowing,

Dancing like snakes free of their skeletons

Beyond the bird calls repeated a tat-ta–tat-at,

An ancient pattern, a knowing pattern.

Singing of the secrets of existence.

I smell the sweet June breeze, afraid to breathe too hard, to turn my head, to yawn

And to, in doing so, end this moment.

As I lay here, in the comfort of my bed,

I almost think not to write these words,

But I am compelled to try to capture this moment of knowing

what it is to belong to this world.