as familiar as my body, my name, my home,
full of sounds and smells and synchronistic surgings.
I hear the crows calling their cacophonic messages,
staring down at me from their star pine perches
as I tweet and facebook and write a blog about
the search for God in this bounty of beauty.
I see the shades of green bursting forth in the warm sun,
flourishing in this cache of uncertainty,
this lap of luxury midst short sales
bankrupt souls and foreclosed possibilities.
I hear the buzzing June bugs, blustering lawn mowers,
scraping skate boarders sidewalk surfing at dawn
on this strong and fragile home we call the Earth.
I smell the salt air and sand beckoning me to come
and watch the waves play with the wind and moon.
I long to be outside among the flowering jacarandas
digging in the clay dirt of this stone hill desert place,
but once there my heart surges toward the written word again
and I return as a slave to the back-lit screen
urgently, restlessly feeling the need to record the echo
of something distant and close inside the sanctuary of the Beloved
smiling at me with a tanned face in the ordinary summer time.