After wandering through
the starry sky all night,
you are gently lifted,
then suddenly fall,
recaptured
by this body, in the gray
morning air, a wall
slowly approaches,
halting
all memories.
City traffic flows,
the distant greyish-white
smoke from the factory
chimney sketches
the curvature of clouds
against
the grey-blue sky.
Shuttling through the
concrete jungle, a sudden
spark reminds you that
foggy morning of
childhood, in
the garden filled with plants
beaded with dew,
facing
the morning sun, you
walked towards a bird
with dishevelled
feathers. Now,
in boundless night,
the female vocal in
Bryan Kearney's trance
music sings,
"You are home now"
O wind of the wilderness,
O the slanting sun above
the hills at the end of the
country road at dusk, that
winter when I pushed open
the door to the empty house with
plum flower petals
scattered over
the floor, those evenings
with dinner ready by Dad, O
raindrops on the fallen leaves
in the valley
last early summer
-but you'd never be home again.
This body pulls me towards the
downstream, where the maelstrom
looms, ready to consume me.
- I'll never be home anymore.
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