I spied a boy,

lying on his back

who raised his hand

and with one finger, traced the outline of his view.

I spied a man

lying on his back

I raised my hand

And he, with one finger, traced the outline of his view

That man was me

And he likes himself

and the boy he was

he likes the sunshine, and the clouds he likes

warm smiles and conversation (difficult conversations too)

he likes

haikus, and coffee mugs, wearing sweaters scaring sweaters and

off beat hugs.

received from anyone who will give them

he likes truth and the word quest

and questing for truth and

finding out that its okay.

he likes the beginning of seasonal depression

( not the entirety of that endeavor for the weather shouldn't have that much control)

He likes his soul.

he likes sharing it with others.

he likes himself and he is content.

with life spent in wealth of great company

proudly astounded at the sights he sees

he cant mistake this take on gravity

to address the situation

so I'll be spied

lying on my back.

I'll raise my hand.

And with one of my fingers, trace the outline of my view.

And then i'll probably smile.