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I hear it missing in the stillness of night.
I feel it calling me back, beckoning me
into the throbbing pulse,
summoning my energy to a place
where it can be strong.
The cement and tar
long to feel my footsteps,
the exhaust filled breeze
longs to play with my hair.
The pounding thunder
of landing planes
longs to vibrate
through my body,
the sirens, car alarms
semis gearing down for lights,
long to sing in my ears again.
Senses cleansed through a
decade of coastal air,
it’s time to go back
to where it all began.
Back to city, suburbia,
territorial home ground,
back to those childhood
sites and sounds to take a look,
check out the roots,
stabilize the bank, to
prepare for the onset
of rapid growth.
Kathleen Morgan 2000
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