All Right
The smell of dirt and diesel exhaust
& the smell of the hot form oil
in the rising dust bring them back--
those tiny pieces of timelessness
on long afternoons.
Like once hanging siding high on a wall,
a whole bunch of us up there,
suddenly someone yells out a yodel --
really nice! Then someone else answers
with another perfect yodel!
And then all of us were laughing. . .
It was winter but the sun
had warmed us on that wall
before the singing set us free.
Another time I was scraping
the paint from the side of a house,
when I was suddenly flooded with happiness,
inexplicably knowing
that everything is all right.
And it is . . .
It is.
The smell of dirt and diesel exhaust
& the smell of the hot form oil
in the rising dust bring them back--
those tiny pieces of timelessness
on long afternoons.
Like once hanging siding high on a wall,
a whole bunch of us up there,
suddenly someone yells out a yodel --
really nice! Then someone else answers
with another perfect yodel!
And then all of us were laughing. . .
It was winter but the sun
had warmed us on that wall
before the singing set us free.
Another time I was scraping
the paint from the side of a house,
when I was suddenly flooded with happiness,
inexplicably knowing
that everything is all right.
And it is . . .
It is.