LOST BOY FOUND

Tall buildings jut from flat land,
an artificial mountain range with no holy foundation.
A random empty lot is quickly named prairie
in a desperate effort to gain some drama.

On the journey, I meet those rooted to their place
in a way I’m not; I jealously listen
as history rolls off their tongues;
stories and eyes sparkle in the retelling.
Immigrant parents gifted me with tales
watered down by the Atlantic crossing.
Unable to see and feel the land,
I searched for my own stories:
but railroad crossings, alley paths and new traffic lights
don’t hold the same romance.

Through grit and grace and gratitude,
I find the world is open.
No limits on ownership, I fill my empty places
with all the beauty I can hold.
From leaping Gulf Stream dolphins
to western snowcapped peaks.
Wild rivers rushing
to the breathe of God lightly brushing a still early morning lake top.
Bright orange and red desert landscapes speak to me
as I close my eyes in prayer,
closer now to God in nature’s sanctuary
with my newly repaired heart.