This home has been ours for ever, our parents’ generation and the ten before that too. This home
has been loved
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I think that tree used to be taller,
Pine spindles extended and reaching, reaching
Toward the terrifying expanse of eternity above.
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Beneath my head, your chest expands and falls,
It pulls me in and pushes me out—my tide,
So steady; brutal; vast;
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The air is thick with something unnamed,
a hush, a breath, a weight unclaimed.
A pilgrimage of followers, of teenage girl disciples
with dads trailing behind, trickling
through ticket check barriers, borrowing youth.
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Come again, come again-
Orphic spring and lawny glens,
Wink gold light; beams supper bright,
Shine upon my tranquil hermit den…
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