Another night, or rather early dawn, and I’m awake, as a million thoughts and memories run through my head like a trading ticker on the stock market. It doesn’t slow down and I start tossing around as my body won’t get comfortable. Finally, I get up refusing to fight what woke me in the first place. Why do some memories just show up out of the blue? Why don’t others?
As I sit here in the dark, sipping on a cup of tea, I remember nights like this when I lived a block off the ocean in Long Beach, California. I always slept with my window open, because I loved the smell of the ocean’s air. It seems like a lifetime ago but the memory is still vivid, along with the smells and sounds.
There was a woman who passed below my window every day in the early morning hours, before the sun came up. I don’t know why I thought of her now. But the following poem poured out of me when I woke. I use the term “poem” lightly. Maybe once her memory is brought to life, I can sleep again.
Morning’s Rite
Crickets sing to whoever listens.
The air is heavy and sticky with
salty moisture of the ocean.
The robin’s solo sounds
lonely in the darkness.
Then I hear the humming;
Her “ohms” on every exhale,
in harmony together with
each step she takes, like
every predawn past.
As her song slowly fades
into the distance, it’s
replaced by the surf crashing
in repetitive sequence and
I am lulled back into dreams.
Chasing Worms 
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