.
.
My Home
is in a thousand things
it is where you are
now, soft asleep
it is
where we lay
years ago, moons ago
when we woke up
at the same time in the morning
facing each others eyes.
Before all this
and still now
it groans in the wind of the hills
and in the aching of lovers lost
and it is in the mourning
and in the living
it is down that street
where the cat fought the fox
it is in your legs
swinging
on the line
it is in
the growing of things
from warm soil
from seed, that grows seeds
that fly away
It rests abroad, in other hearts, too,
forgotten, sometimes,
remembered, often.
It is in trees, green and orange
it is in leaves, new and fallen
and yes, it is in the wind
on the grasses
here now
stroking the lines from my face
I have always been
more at home
in the small moments
of everywhere
than
only in one place
and that,
whilst precarious,
is surely
also
a comfort.
.
© C. Rennie 2013