Glad

I am glad to be alive
on nights like this
one
with the wind blowing through the open windows,
carrying the scent of freshly-cut grass
and honeysuckle blossoms,
the stars winking above,
the road whispering below,
my mind composing poems like this one
that I will forget before I can put
paper and pen together.

I am glad to be alive
on nights like this
one
when I sing with abandon,
my one free arm dangling
out the window, meeting the wind
pressing up against it,
like the very earth rising up to listen to my voice
join the voices of those before me,
preceding those after me,
a chorus of praise swallowed up by the night.

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