I insist I've grown wiser— I am no longer craving the whirlwind, chasing the emptying spill, outside of myself, forward, too forward, tipping and humping forward, sharp-toothed, knowing no still seat. Because I have been that craving creature I can tell now something is different. The yearning tug is already pleasure. Underneath the motion it compels is no motion, nowhere to go. Home. Home sings out from inside of me and echoes from every face. And all the more so from faces bright at the sight of me, who see what I've become and what is coming, your face, my glow reflecting your welcoming, your irrepressible newness, prefigured in the projection of waking dreams. You take my hand and squeeze it in both of yours. You are young— no, fresh, yet old, blessed old, with the smile of one who has learned to be held upright by buffeting winds, who hears in their roar the friend's teasing laughter. I too am steady. Yet. Will gratefully fall into your gaze, its swaddling quiet… Will press gently against your cheek with mine, touch temple to temple, stretch into a shared rise and fall of breath. Of chest and belly. Of sinews pulsing with blessed fire. Of lines of story lit under damp skin. Will trace the rise and fall that gives new meaning to old stories. I am still amazed that I do not need to ask, do not need to explain. We already know each other better than we can say, somehow… I do not trouble this knowing with coarse movement. Shy in the presence of holiness. Mute. Listening like willow waits for wind. Ready to bend. Already overflowing. Already grateful. This is not the first step in our journey together. No— See, love, look, love, even as we set out again, again and again, we rest in each other, already and always home. --- *September 2024*