Wandering Home
i have found a home
in love’s low hills
you’d never notice me,
as you traced over
the golden backs.
the waves of reeds sing
quietly muttering “today” and “now”
and i do not worry about it,
you know, all those dirty things
our minds play games with
while we’re gone.
no, i am no harlot, my home is here
under the sun, in the dirt,
away from all
and you are invited
to our home of listening and waiting,
to meet in the Great Silent heart
and rest.
do I sing here?
yes.
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