I Am Home

I Am Home

The canopy of limbs feels like a ceiling,
not allowing me to rise.
The birds are singing audibly,
a tune I do not know.

Tree roots trip me clumsily,
as I try to wander along.
The tiniest bug disturbs the procession,
interrupting this careless journey.

But then, the whisper of traveling water,
speaks to me of familiar, forgotten places.
The stained-glass skylight above,
wisely dares me to pause and linger.

It is only now I am able to see…
I am,
in fact,
at home.

An arched foyer of bending limbs,
invites guests to the chambers inside,
Leaf-covered walls delineate rooms,
devoid of simplified names.

Floors rich in varied texture,
evolve from stone to leaf-covered trail.
The porch, a wide pasture of green,
freckled by sparks of a familiar yellow.

No hall in this home the same,
No view from these windows repeated.
The address belongs to us all,
The door - always open.