Fiesta

It's here

a new Fiesta again

like waking when I was ten

walking outside to oak trees

fresh grassy air so present

there was no other time

at that time.

No future now that I'm old,

ten again, walking out onto 

the dirt and the street, another

now again in the momentary

fiesta, vendors setting up tents,

air perfumed with sweat and

lack of pretense, seeing and

nodding to each other as if 

we were never ever anywhere 

else. Simple as it could be...

simple as it was before caught

in the trap of believing in a 

future that never could be but

suddenly rushing forward for

years to some idea of destination

caught up in the human waterfall

of shouldn't we, not knowing what

we had forgotten in the swirl of 

events that seemed like a good 

idea at the time, but led to nothing

more than missing the point of why

we were there in the first place,

where we first were when we did

smell the air. felt the space, saw

what was here, when we were alive

for the first time. 

Back to that, the same as when 

I left it, and where have I been all 

this time? In someone else's dream?

It couldn't have been mine.