it's the first fifteen seconds of messes of men

and the newly wed couple coming out of that church in Ireland

bathed in light and new union

her red lips are so clean in my memory

kissing the hand of her husband

a safe place

surrounded by green and the anticipation of the unknown future

it's my father's square hand, pressed to my forehead, praying

it’s the way his face looks when he speaks in another language, meant only for God

and the sound of his voice when he read to us as children

it's the way a river moves me

with its inherent music,

and I close my eyes

it's the sunlight turning everything into honey

and the taste of the morning

and the sound foliage makes under wandering feet

it's watching the pine trees move by in slow, flickering movements,

like the pictures on a roll of film,

set to the sound of hymns

rising and falling with the passing mountains,

like we’re breathing together

in sync

it's a senseless homesickness

and a piercing, unutterable ache

It's the frustration of never being able to say what I mean

it's the relief of not needing to

it's the first fifteen seconds of messes of men

and the comfortable silence between friends

it’s the distance between us

it's the way I don't

it's the way you

it's