48/385 : happy birthday to me: i wish i were crowd-surfing

being born is like crowd surfing
a whole sea of hands
just waiting
to lift you
pass you down
to the front of the party
where the band
cries love
in the language
of drums and
sliding riffs sliding
into lavender skies
of sunburnt cries

thousands
no millions of miles
we travel--
those of us, old
and catching babies--
just to feel
that one feeling
of everyone holding us
like in the beginning
before we needed music
to feel its rhythm
pulsing
through our tambourine hearts