Evensong

Shrill

Inarticulate warbles

Muted in passage through walls

And woods.

Anger

Understood by tone

And cadence long before

Any sound clarifies to coherent

Words

Heat

Beat

hasty

Retreat

Words

Pulse

Thrumming temples

Dread descends with every step

Upward to that door

Where home fires burn

Doorknob

Chill beneath palm

Hand lingers

Warming brass

As crass language

And rage harass

His tired dragging ass

Inhalation

Exhalation

Knob turning

Welcome

Home

Primal Glue

No smell evokes hunger,

on late afternoons,

quite like the, driftIng,

distant hickory fire.

Its scent saturates

the woodland around

with the promise of hearth

in all of its meanings.

Comfort and kin,

safety and warmth,

food and good cheer,

the social embrace.

Like some olfactory anthem,

that flavor saturates

the world,

the food,

my very soul.

Homing Instinct

People speak of “home”
As a longed for destination
And they speak of “home”
As a place they wish to be,
But when some say “home”
It is with hesitation,
Because, of them, “home”
Is a pain they long to flee.
Once, for me a “home”
Was just imagination
Until you came “home”
And built for me a home
That we never wish to leave.