My Home
by Tim Reed
earth steeped in morning and evening rains
brews a chill sweetness, rich and subtle
unappreciated by those who can only see and have forgotten
to smell, taste, feel, and hear
(the yellow sun is such a paltry bauble)
gentle light, softened by downy cloud-batting
kindly wakens
grey, green, blue, brown
I sleep on mossbed 'neath a fir chapel
there is something different about a train horn
when it passes through the fog
it is like a secret lullaby
as you are held in your mother's lap
intimacy
earth, water, tree, and stone
convene, commune
family
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