give those boys back their wings

A childhood memory is buried in the dark space when my eyes are closed. Its not all black. There are a million specs of white. Superimposed, is an image of me and my brother when we were young and happy. The air is cool. It's day, but the air is filled with moisture and in the background green covered mountains loom high above a tattered apartment complex.

I can smell the wet air and I can feel in on my face. I can remember his laughter. That genuine childhood laughter always breaks my heart.

We are in a field and we're funning around, just chasing each other from spot to spot in this field of joyous imagination. What were we thinking, our cold bare feet in the wet grass? We are in love with life. Soon we would learn to behave differently. Soon life would gain weight and our wings would be clipped. If I could go back in time, the only thing I would change, I would give those boys back their wings.

My brother's face is clear, framed in straight dark hair, lively dark brown eyes, a big smile, a few teeth missing, happier than I will ever see him again. Can he say the same about me? I want to run with him like that again, but I am 42 years old. In my head I hear him laugh and taunt me to come after him.
"Come on, catch me," the little boy giggles. "Come on who cares, you're old!"
And then I see my own face. And I'm missing teeth. My dark skin framed in sun streaked brown, with light brown eyes and a big grin. And I'm free again. I hadn't loss anything, I hadn't left anyone behind, I hadn't anything to regret, I'd hadn't fallen in love. I was just in love. I was just born that way.

sunrise

The sunrise washes clean the night before. It'll take a dream and polish it to a gleam or a nightmare and wring out meaning. If you haven't slept, then the spark of light from the horizon at sea or over a hill in the countryside or upper edge of a building downtown; it shines. And in that shine lay salvation.
This morning I am alone, not physically just cosmically. Like we all are, I am alone in my thoughts and my actions because I am not being watched. On a good day this will continue for an hour or two into the day's activities where in full view I am living. Eventually the tensions of restraint will take over my spine and I will fall into line. Society knows I will. Society knows. They tell me that I am not insane. I know that I am, especially at sunrise.
Once in line, then I begin to mimic the group. I am no longer my own and why would I be I ask myself. You are a good person is a good answer. It's an answer that works. I'll walk like that man, I'll pick up my tempo like that woman, I'll laugh like that little girl and I'll behave. I am good.
When the group begins, I begin. When the group laughs, I'll laugh. When the group stops, I'll stop. When the group drinks, I drink. I must move with the group, I must sleep with the group. I must feel the group with all my senses all the time.
"close your eyes. What do you hear besides my voice. Close your eyes. Listen."
"Im cold."
"Close your eyes. What do you hear?"
"I hear a train. In the distance, I hear a garbage truck. I hear a baby crying."
"Good. What do you taste? What do you smell? What do you feel?"
"My mouth, my tongue. Smoke. Bacon. Pancakes. I'm scared."
"Now move."
The group knows nothing. It moves about senselessly because it has no feeling. But we give it our senses and it is all of us together as one. A singular breath.
"Next stop Burnside and 8th."
My spine begins to twist. Its time to join the ranks.

Hietsuki Bushi (Full Version)