To My Wife 7

She walks the paths

that I walk.

She see the grounds

upon which I

stomp.

She feels the place

Where I am raised

as a child.

She watches the trees

sway with

our mellow breeze.

It is beautiful,

But it is different

from the tropical welcome

that she knows,

that she is.

The rhythms are extreme,

from the quiet churning

of Prius engines

and the industrial grid,

to the stacatic booms

or urban protest

that expand

from within.

The language is different,

spoken by tongues

that move fast

and sharp.

Eyes too often look

away

rather than

within

each other.

The customs are different

from with what she is familiar.

But she sees it all before.

She is raised

within an era

where insight from afar

is available

at our fingertips.

She is improving the ways,

she knows the songs,

and she is learning the words.

She is brought

from ancestors

of different lands.

She knows

the experience

of the perennial stranger.

And she knows

wherever she is,

she is at home;

Home is

within.

Indeed, that is why

she is here,

to share with people

he welcome.