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Wandering Home

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?



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