Stay- at- Home, Homecoming

Each irregular fragment

of these poets' worn and weary 
stranded souls, these pilgrims'

stained and strained-with-worry faces, 
stands up, stays put and still for long 
minutes, then slowly stretches stiff limbs, 
surrenders tense necks in late-day’s rising dusk 
as bodies start to awaken, tenuously
at first, now swaying with a bevy 
of red-wing blackbirds scattering together 
spilling like gleeful molecules 
onto the back of the sky 
and with those rippling breezes 
jitterbugging roundly, yes a concentric ring
of interdependence skims across 
the lake's silver skin towards the green mountain, 
eyes bright minds shimmering here
within this gathering fountain and 
wordless homecoming, 
yes here at reality's humble base, 
where everything beautiful 
and broken belongs.