Home Coming

Our bodies are homes
where dreaming resides.

Oh, how in good times
and hard these bodies are
our first homes and our
myriad stories their lush
verdant back yard.

When we bide our bodies
with a light touch and care
we honor our homes, know
in our guts that we do
live there.

In a drunk Mexican town
under the volcan’s haze
or a vibrating street in
a big East coast city,

our muscles and sinews
sing of home and the yearn
for a friend who takes us in
in all weather through
their open front door.

Whether rich or poor, in ill
health or not, he offers cups
of warm tea fragrant
with cinnamon and clove,

listens closely as we tell
our real story of desires
that burn and secrets
unclothed,

show simply our nakedness
this wavering and fear,

how we battled our aches
stomached deep doubts
year after year,

then with some luck,
shimmer and glisten,
we both settle in chairs
of plum colored softness

watch the night stars
turn slowly while long
travels liquefy,

we smile and sigh fully
feel close to the earth,

there’s now birthed
a surplus of ease as
we know in our bones
strongly,

true home and high
treeful dreaming
may finally
be nigh.