Pinot noir, smooth on the lips

John Mayer on YouTube

soon, to stroll through the farmers markets on a breezy-warm Sunday morning

Asher, tasting tomatoes, the seeds and juice dripping over his chin

fresh-squeezed orange juice, just-made lemonade, tall glasses,
the children purse their lips at the pulp, everywhere, the authentic texture of our day

to live in an urban loft,
to believe in the rebirth of a city,
to find roots in the oldest industry
to grow in a cloudless field
to blossom and billow in the constant wind
to look out the abundant windows, the tall panes of glass merging the outside world with what is manmade, because we are one and the same

the wind echoes between tall grasses, slides through blueberry branches and into the cracks of honeybee hives

to discover for the first time after all these years
that promise is what I wake with each day
and what I lay my head down on at night

the moon full through my bamboo shades

my children sleeping evenly and serene in adjacent rooms

the world is attainable, I believe that now
and so should you

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