WHAT HOME IS

I WHO WANDERED WHEN I WAS YOUNG, WITH MY PERFUME (MY SAME PERFUME) A SMALL SACK OF EARRINGS AND BOOKS THAT I WOULD LEAVE BEHIND, I HAVE BECOME MORE ATTACHED THAN I EVER THOUGHT I WOULD BE TO THE IDEA OF HOME.

MATTHEW TOOK SOME PICTURES
OF A HOME SO
I STARTED IMAGINING WHAT
HOME CAN BE. LAST NIGHT THE FIRST TIME
I DREAMT A POEM. BUT I DID NOT
WRITE IT DOWN.
NOW MONDAY MORNING
A FAVORITE SPOT,
MAYBE EVEN A PERCH, ON A LOUNGE
ON THE PORCH FACING AUGUST YELLOW FIELD
I WHO HAVE THOUGHT I WAS A WANDERER
NOT EXACTLY FOOTLOOSE MY FEET DON’T DANCE
I IMAGINE HOME WHEN YOU VISIT ME
I WANT YOU TO COME AND VISIT ME
WE ARE ABLE TO SIT
TIME OF DAY DOESN’T MATTER
NEITHER DOES THE SEASON
HOW OLD WE ARE DOESN’T MATTER EITHER
WHAT DOES IS THAT WE KNOW HOW
LUCKY WE ARE TO BE HOME.

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