By Dark Angel
Date: 23 February 2001
Home Coming
She cleans
a hushed hurry through
the tiny tender touches
her heart
a tinkling musical chime
her pulse
a bursting booming thunder.
Her fingers fling
phantom found shoes
into closets
under beds
her eyes dancing as they draw
out details to be corrected
before I arrive.
There are miles and miles
of ancient aching lonesome longing
as old as the song of man
before I reach her
but her feet finding errant errands
softly ceaselessly seek
the perfect detail
to make my arrival perfect.
There are other gifts
other lovers give
to each other
of gold or silver or pearl
but none so lovely loving lasting
as the pure and priceless preparations
she makes for me
for my home coming
to the tender timeless moment
I arrive within the circle
of her arms.
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