Nostalgia

A sticky June evening
sitting on my back porch
watching fireflies blink in and out
of the cool night air-
A touch...
A whisper of memory
slides up my neck and into my hair.
And I see
myself as a chld,
grasping leaves torn from a honeysucke bush
and nestled within them
a small, tender light
blinking slowly in my palm.
I can feel the warmth
of that tiny lantern
pulsing through the silken sweat
of my hand.

And I am young
for an instant,
and the air crackles
like the hairs of my cat
after a thunderstorm,

and I am watching
the night sky
as a man
with only sweat in his palm.

by Kevin Wheeler

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