The Moya View


It’s hard to know home without roots
firmly planted in the soil of stay,
when cancer and cure move the lifeline.
and a tornado the geography of property beyond
the winds of summer squalls and hard rains.

My heart is not a sedentary plot.
it knows no fixed seasons:
winters blow into summers
and summers into winters not allowing
me a crag or outcrop or even solitude.

The winds hear my shout but
knows not the language of my cry.
I cannot grow against it anymore.
I cannot hold onto to its nothingness
that promises no firm truth, only mysteries.

I am denied over and over the choice to stay,
to make what others know and call home.






One response to “Homeless”

  1. carolineshank Avatar

    Forlorn and lonely captured to perfection

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I Know the Night and Sky
Listening and Searching through the Rubble