a quickie

I may try to write something else today. This one feels short and contrived, but I like it nonetheless.

Poetry

I hear it in my son's wild laughter.
I see it in patterned light and shadow.
I feel it when I close my eyes
to sense your nearness.
I smell it on the wind,
and taste it in the warmth
of a meal prepared with love.
I cannot say what it is
but it never leaves me.
Perhaps it is gratitude,
wonder,
a bit of everything.