Coming Home
by J.M. Derig
Across my lawn leaves tumble
Gold and bronze.
The rustle moves
Right through my chest breathing-
Breathing in the cool fire of autumn.
A brick path,
Laid out for me like a red carpet,
Spotted with the passionate colored
Memories of the oaks,
Gathered in my long absence,
Lead to the front door.
Inside,
The woodstove's silent warmth
Danced over me and
Our twisted shadows on the wall-
Moved like sculptor's hands
Around a wheel,
Spinning tender,
Familiar.
I am home.
Let me touch you again.