Long Home

Home, like romance, many wish
Singular, one and only,
To find home, come home, be home

And then rest, a marriage plot,
Of sorts, happily ever
After. No more wandering.

But then there are many homes,
More for some than for others,
But more than one, most often.

There are temporary homes,
Temporary forever
Homes, homes away from home—

Some call heaven the long home
In nostalgia’s home syndrome.

The Lonely Glowing

It never began.
It had always begun.
Never more begun than before
But always begun.

Back to the light in the window,
Ordinary sunlight,
Extraordinary technology,
The well-machined double-paned glass.

It’s been flooding the room
With old thoughts about photons,
How what’s bouncing around
Came so far to sink into these walls,

Direct or by relay,
Each one bumping one
A further wave along
Until the eyes absorb

The few that arrive
Out of all the passing,
And the interpretation
Begins that had always begun.

Peril

It’s a silent movie
With a piano score
And alternating shots

Of a train rushing right
And a train rushing left,
Piano thundering

With the billows of steam—
A head-on collision
Looks inevitable.

But then, that’s it. That’s all.
The scene’s never resolved.
The piano goes on,

The trains keep billowing,
The camera keeps cutting
Between the trains. Your eyes

Cut back and forth quicker.
C’mon, c’mon! Which train
Is more interesting?

You could die in your seat
Malnourished on popcorn
In the dark theatre.