our home becomes a place for travelers,
a grill full of food,
a hallway full of shoes,
dirty feet and
dirty towels,
energy from all over the map.
Cousins squeal and mingle,
their eyes light and clear,
our histories so obvious,
so passed along.
I see myself in the road trip
of my nephew,
see myself in how,
at twenty-three,
who you are becomes clear,
what you value,
what you want to see,
how you will be
in the world.
We flipped through the old photo book
and I laughed
because I don't really feel
that different at all,
though the lines now indicate
the complexity of the journey,
I still love to sit on a quiet beach,
stay up late talking,
watch the way the sun
dances on water,
watch the way
we see with
pure love.
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