Poem: Home

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Home is not a house;

Home is motion

Home is where love leads you

And momentarily lets you linger

Home is the arms of the moment

The union of soul with sky

Home is a tear

A tingling in the groin

A near-empty glass of wine

On the brink of being refilled

Home is the apocalypse of an eyelid

That will open on a reality

Radically different

To the one it just shut away

Home is emptiness;

Of staring at a beautiful woman

On the other side of the street

Home is a glittering coin

In the hand of a pock-marked tramp

Home is a secret forest

Where only birdsong can reach you

Home is a feeling

I’ll never be able to pin down

A secret smile that perches inside

Waiting to take full flight

Home is everything I had with you

And then cast aside

Home is hope

Home is despair

Home is a comfy sofa

I sat on once

But will never sleep on again

Home is the beguiling experience

Of seeking out the next sacred kiss

Of squeezing your breasts in a supermarket

And dedicating a comic opera to your hips

Home is a mysterious feeling

I’ll never be able to explain

A place I remember well

Which will ever renew again

 

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