The Homecoming

The world’s edges soften,
and every sound and wing
takes to the air.
Our breath fogs
and the marsh trembles
with spring chorus —
celebrating growth to come.

Swallows skim the water,
and I almost feel
your shadow step up
to stand next to me.
The world inhales,
and we grow wild
with an ecstasy
that has no origin
and no end —
just a dissipating
of birdsong as the sun
blinds a cloud.

The wheel pushes us on —
with muddy feet,
with hands in dirt.
I grasp yours now
and pull like a child.
Your feathertip fingers
brush the back of my hand,
and there is nothing more than this.
Who would ever ask for more than this?

We walk off the darkness.
We walk off the gray.
We walk off the clouds.
We walk off this sense of erosion.
And we walk off time’s threats,
embracing this new breathlessness
that pulls us onward and outward.

The world has something to say,
and the sun knows what to do with us.
This exhalation delights
in shared sensation.
I’ve missed your reedy voice.
I’ve missed your discerning gaze.
I’ve missed your thin, dancing hands
that make the melodies
that haunt this awakening.

How far we have traveled
in so short a mile —
sun on skin, I want
to embrace your worry and regret
and release it back into the wind.
Let it recede in echoes until
all’s quiet again.
And welcome home, love.

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About Emily

I may or may not have: A. Dirt B. Ink C. Paint D. Wool under my fingernails.

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