petricor

sometimes it's easy to abandon all musings

on
cosmic folly & rolling hills
to take up a fist of soil & work the earth thru the passing of the hours
to battle amongst those who can look sky ward and see no stars

see no force there

but blue
to rumble along ignorant of ardor & fascination & truth
merely to delude oneself into thinking that this is how it should be;
hard work and sleep make up the days 

habit follows habit follows habit 
follows
into the yellow chalk-outlined box of tomorrow
until 

something slips,
something tilts ....
into a particle of possibility
perhaps it is a smell on the wind
a song on the radio while strolling thru the frozen foods looking for 

bright green peas and razberries
something awakens in the pit of your chest
the bone of your thighs

the spaces in your heart 

the burn stirs
and you hope and want and yearn and breathe
in
him .
.... and 
all events and passions and senses
collide to entice you to rattle the bars of your cage

to stomp and shout and
mark your scent upon the piece of 

sky & earth
that calls you
home