There's a stone
in my pocket
and a storm
on my lips
great field voices
of cane and wheat
songs from the
Southern people
inside me
equinox and
solstice folk
deep inside
the Earth
Deep inside
my bones
growling for
that summer wind
an air to
ride the
back of
sliding into home.
Michael Joseph Ferguson
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sliding-into-home/
