I sat in a hut of stones and brick

And called it home

I sat in a four limbed or three limbed or even two limbed

Little body

And called it home

I wandered caves and mountainsides

And mile upon mile of dusty road

Calling every wayside tavern home

I sat in halls of learning

Hallowed grounds from ages past

And called each one home

I found a light in the hearts of men

And women young and old

Small children and the elderly

And tried- so I tried- to build a home

In each

I found a madness

A passionate love for the toil of my hands

And called it home

I rolled on the open grass under a night sky

And called it home

I recalled my cradle and the hands that led

Me to walk on my own two feet

And called them home

I called home the earth beneath me

And the skies above

One piece after another

And then I found a secret door in the corner of

The corner

Of my heart

I called it home

I called home every stranger with a weathered smile

Every brightly lit hearth and porch

I called home my bag of coins

And the child of my blood and his blood

And the blood of his blood

I called home my own blood, my bones,

My sinews, my beating pulse,

I called home my lovers and their love

My own love and my laughter and my joy

I called home my words

My words I paint in bold strokes across blank pages

To leave pictures in the smoke

To throw reflections in your eyes

I called them home, I called it all home, everything and more

And Home?

It laughed for long years

At my antics and somersaults

My stumbles and my stammers and my stutters

And when I was thoroughly spent

It came and kissed my feet.


One thought on “Home

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