Perhaps this is what it means

I am reborn every morning
tho’ free of nativities’ original event,
arriving nevertheless squirming and
breathless into a World of an eye blink
which I know I never left;
I drown in a flood of bounteous springtide,
it renews my optimism, renders me
weightless and naïve, able to soar seamlessly
into the spirit world, cross physical borders
without the clutch of atmospheric events.
I witness the break of day free of cosmic
advent, I see challenging horizons but no
frightening distance, I listen to birdsong and
care not they are eating my grain.
This is a place where I can sow the seeds
of my joy again, plant zygote ideas
and watch them grow. Perhaps
this where I can find my Aztlán,
perhaps this is what it means.
© I.D. Carswell