Coming Home

We cut the motor and paddle round the bend, 

Gliding into the sandy shore, 

Our way marked by headlamps, 

Lonely flecks of light on a dark river. 

Quietly whispering, we wet our ankles 

And disembark, throwing sandals to the grass, 

Shouldering luggage and expectations. 

Our feet know the way, every dip and furrow.

Lizards skitter, bullfrogs honk, 

Mosquitoes drone and buzz

A quiet music in the heavy night air.

Two dogs come alongside, snorting and jumping, 

Recognizing our scents from long ago, 

Up through the trees we weave, 

Crunching on half dead leaves and sticks.

The door swings opens at the top of the hill, 

And we look back out and down to 

A little world full of sleeping dreamers,

Safe for a while as we once were.

Matches are struck with familiar ease, 

Stubby candles lit and arranged

With a forgotten grace. 

Falling back on rickety beds, 

We watch the light stretch and flicker

Over rafters to the screen window

Like fingers reaching for the future. 

A soft, sweet liquid tapping starts

And we smile as the curtains billow. 

The roar of rain begins across the field, 

A crescendo whipping towards us, 

We snuff the candles and burrow in warm sheets. 

The storm settles down around us, 

A wet, jungle welcome full of promise and life. 

Now we are safe. 

Now we've come home.