
You see now, don’t you?
Home is where you come from
Of course it is
But Home is also
where you are now.
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My desk is very crowded
ideas images words reside
a hair’s breadth away
from the fire.
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Eggshell bird half
left on your gravestone
etched into limestone
don’t even know who
you are were meant to be
studiously
mythologically
deadly controuniversality
definitely notoriously silently
intentionally for stranger
passages of White Godesses
Graves.
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Away from home
I miss: Nothing.
Home is Here.
within without
wherever I am
meant to be
that’s Home.
old or new
Your Home is You.
Mine is me.

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I printed some cards
once for identity
but when I read the words
did not recognize
the description they
bore.

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soft shadow possibility
forever lurking inside
hardened walls of ages.

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Moments unexpected
quiet ones
more stir than startle
a breath or blink
a between.
Pause mid-step—
my Elixir.
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Pencil on paper. Images arise. Message received.