The Shape of Home

 

As I try not to stray too far from sunlight

The window cries rust into the white walls,

I think of the perfect scene; rocks during sunsets 

Their dark becomes one with the light

Still they are black and gold, sun and stone.

Lucky us, the trees we adore grow wide and large

Unlucky are those who never knew a tree that grew

They never transcend beyond mankind’s strict lines 

Unlike us, they never knew birds, trees, and stones, 

And the delicate maps ants constantly draw on sand 

Only there for a moment, then the wind blows again

The unlucky, they travel far from here to find this

But the beast is within, they cannot escape it.

Still, I watch the patterns of a tree’s trunk and I see

Ants run wildly all over it, this time without a trace

How lucky are they gentle and wild, truly alive

I want to be like them not barely present but lightly so

I pray, may the wind erase every trace left of me

So tomorrow I see it all brand new again, and God

Please make the sunlight take my shadows away.

Some elements of me are to stay if they wish,

A black hair woven into a happy bird’s golden nest

Yet again a perfect scene in the shape of home

My dark becomes one with the light tiny twigs

Still we are each our own, human and plant. 

Lucky me alongside the branches of kind giving trees

For birds gave songs of endless joy so we give back

But I hope we would have given nonetheless,

Lucky us, one with birds, trees, and stones, and

All the light here on earth; the shape of home.