Figuring why

I’m in perpetual turmoil.

A squirming bag of prejudices and paranoias, 
propelling itself from experience to experience
searching for something that ceased to exist
and learning to love what's encountered.

Some look for the love in everything they see
While others trip over it

I love my mam
I love mi novia, mi media naranja
I love my kids, through our veil of estrangement
I love my grandkids, too

I love the man I shouted to get out of the bus-lane

I love the doctor at the walk-in clinic
I love the bus driver who took me there

I love my students, my bosses

I love Corbyn and Johnson, Sanders and Trump
I love Xi, Putin and Netanyahu

I love the Castros, the Kennedys, the Grand Ayatollah
Every damn Yankee, every Chinese,
Iranian, Arab, Catholic, Jew
I love every Muslim, Hindu and Buddhist,
Zoroastrian, Pagan, Protestant, Athiest
I love them all

I love Norwegians and Japanese
I love Venezuelans, Nicaraguans, Cubans and Greeks
And then some

I love the rash on my arse

I love coffee, tostada and Napolitana

I love the chatter
I love the sun
I love the rain and the wind

I love knowing there’s every chance
I’ll come this way again

I love the way that “home” fragments.

I always loved to look out of a window and dream
and now, it seems, I look out of the dream
seeing fragments of everything passing by
and finally figuring why.