Balance of Our Days
 
The night canceled into morning and it is noon, 
The sun pouring the leaden heat hard into the core 
Of day.  It is this summer basking in a new land 
That darkens the natural tan of my skin. 
A dry wind sweeps across the leeward thrust of green 
And flutters a banner of leaves of trees 
To distant music of the humming skies. 
I am called home.
 
Twelve winters turning into spring and fall and 
Back into the summer of this one bright day. 
And home has beckoned, and I am no further away 
Than ever. 
 
Before the day edges towards eventide 
Before the sun shrivels in a purple cloak of dusk 
In the mists of voided, voiceless, separated years 
I know whoever calls me home again 
Will find me there. 

--Carlos A. Angeles