The Air Here

The air here is heavier,
filled with salt and sun and sound.
Where fragrant flowers
trigger memory upon memory,
touching me like so many
clammy hands.
Here each heaven-leant breath
fills me deeper
with wonder at the
mundane made divine . . .
the simple smell of salt-spray
catches me off-guard while waiting
as we filled up the car with gas.
Where bird-songs mean something
I can't quite remember,
and the luau music in the distance
taunts me with a culture
I couldn't quite embrace.
Through it all the warm sun
holds me here
and I am lulled into thinking
I finally belong . . .
this time I won't have to leave.