In Passing

There is something inside

each of us

that scurries toward the past

in our bodies a rooted history

perhaps in the balls of our feet

a microscopic yearning

that floats inside that sphere

yearning in a language we've forgotten.

History is too in our knees

in the ball that pops

& twists as we journey.

And for those of us blessed to be old

& for those of us blessed to be young

it lives inside the tiny ball of skin

deep inside the belly button

tickles recollections from our tongues

stories of stories from then—

history lives in circles & spheres

floating

always suspended

waiting for release.