The first light of the last day in June has begun
to fill the place, the trees still dark outlines,
bird song the soundtrack on the back of thoughts
stuck on a theme like a grand loop at a play fair.
I remember it is a turning towards and not away
that is best. Here I can drop into my body, that I am
not all brain, mind, thoughts.
I am feeling, I am taste, I am smell,
I am touch. I am hearing.
It’s a settling into a mystery my ancient grandmothers
understood as they stirred in the first light
of a morning sometime in June. It seems faraway.
Until I remember other births.
© 2021 Copyright Rick Frame