Finding Home

This is what 250 meters above sea level looks like Where the air is life For your weather-beaten body And mind Where the cawing of The crows declare You are alive! you are alive! This is what remorse looks like. As if the fear and anticipation Never bore you down As if  You never wished for A thing as impossible As a force field to shield Your boys as fiercely As You possibly could.  This is what relief looks like. An answered prayer To a desperate pleading "Please not again, not again. " This is what 250 meters above Sea level looks like High. Above. Rise. Up. Wide. Open. Begin again. Clear. Precise. This time richer. This time better. Stronger. And then you Remember, Reminded time And again,  "We grow stronger in the places we are broken." “The world breaks us all. Afterward, some are stronger at the broken places.” -Ernest Hemingway, Farewell To Arms

I miss you  in the quiet spaces.  Such as those that  wake me in the morning--  A stream of light flooding,  the smell of your shirt,  the smoothness from Being worn over and over  The Shuffling of your feet  towards  The bedroom door Your fingers gently  Turning the lock  So as not to wake me  And Our boys Grains of coffee beans Grazing your fingers  Sagada wafting  Through the air Beckoning  My still sleeping body To rise, and  I do As with all beckonings Of my heart I wonder why But not long I just take  One look  At two cups  steaming You reading in  The morning light  And me taking my place  In the quiet space beside you remembering,  Ah, this is why.  This is why.