a journey back. untangling stories untold, broken roots. learning knots that don't break. forging a path forwards, welding home from here.
All home is are the people you’ve sat silently with for some time.
Sometimes it is just getting over the hump of unfamiliarity.
Sometimes it is being drunk on cheap wine and dancing to common beats.
All home is often enough is the comfort of knowing one’s home.
The dolphins Duve portends a union;
the domestic so called partnership
for which we sacrifice this cover.
It screams out to be in its home
of smoke-filled basement doom.
It enjoys the humidity over the daily
slaps against front-porch mold.
He doesn’t speak to me so
maybe we here are mistaken.
The concrete of our imagined
lie on co-beds, library of spices,
jars for storing and sorting
each others vices,
neatly catalogued and placed
on shelves for full view.
So all can see and touch this “union.”
The dolphins sit idly by still as covers.
Only witnesses to the churning,
ins and outs - overs and unders;
to a chemical composition,
a catalyst for apathy.
The ability to feel “just” and “right” and “home”
by the single presence of another other.
Hot-headed and vulnerable.
Tearing one another apart
for the sole purpose of
composition.
