A warm place

 A warm place

A beautiful warm place in the balance of this chaos

Knowing the glory of not having to know

Simple adroit on the fringes of war wounds

And torn up family Bibles scattered like grass clippings

Debating whether to bag them or to let the wind take away words over time

What was and what could have been, the old and the new testaments

To these days, to these nights I look across this table and the feeling is right

There on the fringe of becoming ecstasy in the vocabulary of now

Not sustainable or portable or extractable or solvable

Or bearing a solidity for this storage bin and all of it clusters

In the bastion of the bending in between the lives of this mending

Going on in the subtleties of the way we look at we

Moving and fluttering and the lines of the mothering tendency

To grow your path where needed to extend your passing in the lasting

To other states and I can relate to your expedition in concept but not fruition

I respect it and see it as a hope that you can attain, this happiness searched

In and phrased the lines of these days, mapped out to other schools and degrees

Of everywhere else that you need to be, and I need to be here

And when we can, our ships may cross and we can give each this form of love

Whatever it is, whatever we have to give, it feels as it does like a drug

To remember the endearment, to recall the intimacy of caring yet knowing

The direction of these lines extending is divergent to the nature of this accumulated staring

In not knowing whether you would ever have a compulsion to the urge to call me family

When you have done venturing on this Odyssey, Ulysses call to me when you have the means

Iliad to see home like a port to all the answers coming to sort all these endless possibilities

Into selected realities to see this is what I want, this is my animal that I chose to hunt

Now I am attempting to have this plot enter into the thickening time,

To have a recipe detailed into the bullet point on target to have this dinner prepared for lines

Of a family at a table with a mother and a father and a daughter and a son

And a willingness that is able to accept these healed fractures as original bones

As they had grown in this body like a child into an adult that we have known

With exact birth marks round and brown and in specific tones, that melanoma has no home

In the divergence of what this is becoming, ever cancerous on the chance that this

Does not work out proliferating into a divorce and routs us out

I want faith like a mace to smash the face of all those days, I don’t want to be the man who can not find his way out this maze, and so we are in this Odyssey, a you, a warm place, and me