← v17n2, Fall 2018
Poetry · Volume 17, Number 2

Coming Home

Coming Home

The fruit piles up impossibly, a balance

that is unbalanced to desire, aping a truck

of clouds shoveled by weather into bulk

like luggage rubbled on the carousel

haloed by passengers still waiting for their bags.

Light, too, has grown greedy with patience.

It lurks on the domed roof of the pale house

atop the bone and olive escarpment. It magmas

in the arena’s gut, burps in the irate cloud.

Tired of fencing the track of the temporal race,

of being the needle that minds the universe,

it warms the nested sigh of the thickening mound.

Comforting that light is also languor driven.

Though waking with us, it denies we’re kin.