I'm from the non-stop ticking of an active heart,
from Kleenex and star-gazing.
I'm from the crispness of fall on your tongue,
the old crab-apple tree, the wild growing lilacs.

I'm from twirling like dervishes and always running late,
from sweets and generality to now or never.
I'm from internalizing and erasing my words,
from being an oak tree in the storm and soaping my hands before washing them.

I'm from mile-high arches.

I'm from the coasts and the heartland, the old people and the new,
from spaetzle and goolash,
from never learning enough and right timing,
from the way a smile can light a room,
from the silent sound of a soul leaving its body.

I'm from musky basements and cabinets,
from dusty old books and torn old pages,
from sentiment as precious as a thousand years,
as rare as the sunset of yesterday.