Most of all I miss the berries and their softness,
Rolling blueberries around my fingers and watching them melt,
Deliberately into my skin, staining me, though I don’t,
Care that they do. I miss sun on that stained skin —

Sun! How easy to become accustomed to deprivation,
How easily the mind forgets splendors and miracles,
How easily these things are written over, but the body,
Does not forget these things: Rain patter-pattering on,

Shoulders and hands falling on shoulders and shoulders,
Slumping forwards in laughter so strong it is one long,
Stream of breathless mirth and the body does not forget,
Hummingbirds perched on fingers and eyelashes falling,

Does not forget the acoustics of the bus and the way,
The light would crest over the hill on the way home from,
School and the deer like bolts dashing across the road,
And the heat of a bicycle seat left out of the shade too long,

And so many things so many things are there in the world,
It is easy to live in suspicions, to tilt ears towards the ground,
And hear only the rumbling of oncoming traffic but,
So too is it easy to angle towards the sky and hear the seagulls,

On their small pilgrimages.