There's a stone
in my pocket

and a storm
on my lips

great field voices
of cane and wheat

songs from the
Southern people
inside me

equinox and
solstice folk
deep inside
the Earth

Deep inside
my bones

growling for
that summer wind

an air to
ride the
back of

sliding into home.

Michael Joseph Ferguson

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sliding-into-home/