alive in me
the things I wish
to not believe-
and there they swim
still in my heart
and bones
and mind
like never to leave,
the concept of
gone
so gone from the thing,
like there'd never be
a last cry,
a last time-
a pang sprung
for the path
that cut my feet,
to want
more than anything,
and the grass
to lay in afterwards,
too in love
too deeply,
with each respectively
to care about
anything else
but home
and home
and home
and home,
the two the same
and the way
color shifts
into the east
just beyond
your perception,
western hello
to a cold cup of coffee,
too busy
thinking
loving
meditating
celebrating,
as if
the light shone
from between
God's own front teeth
onto home
home
home.
