Small Maybes

I long to hear a billion voices In the million words, The thousand songs Of the soul of the earth as it turns, unaware. I crave the feel of the wind on my face; The wind that brings change, The breeze that inspires. Maybe not the west wind at all. I want to taste the sparks, the fire, Compassion, forgiveness, anger Happiness and love What it feels to be alive. I yearn for smell the fresh cut grass The leaves, Pie baking in the kitchen The old books, the dust That settles in the everydayness of it. I need to see what I think Rolled out before me Laid bare, Scrutinized My life on a page. I write to seek my great perhaps Finding small maybes time and Time again.