Sunday, 4 December 2016

Reaching For Home While The World Teeters And Cannot Right Itself.

Thoughts drawn to the past while contemplating our future.

Sometimes, in the small hours when my drowsy mind wanders through dusty hallways,
or when the rain is falling on the quiet house,
on the yellow leaves that drift in drifts in the abandoned garden,
I close my eyes,
try and reconfigure the cool air from the open window,
the light behind my eyes,
feel the chair against my back,
and for the briefest moment
I am back there - my senses expanding, reaching out to something bigger and greener and wilder.
And in that moment that other silent, lost place is inside me
and I'm inside it,
as though my skin,
painted with a lifetime of invisible layers of its particles
and all that is was to us,
is no longer just Me,
but Us
and It
and everything
that the atoms of our bodies


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