While The Crickets Call Me

Blankets
of olive trees
and bees
of honey.
1934
wooden
steps
with a 
banister 
full
of touched
memories. 
Black and 
white Italian
movies
dance 
in the background
as the smell
of cedar
holds
the dreams
of the 
hands who
have touched
this plaster
of life. 
Startling
visions of
the green
little door
wide open
at 4am
while the
crickets 
call me.
Inviting me
with my loud
heartbeat
to run.
And 
run I do.