Maps

Home is where the heart is, so they say.

But where is my heart? When the wind blows tumbleweed across the cracks in the sand, they pick up debris as they roll on by. Where is my heart?

“It is not down on any map,” as they say – “true places never are.”

And home isn’t the same anymore; it never was. It can be fleeting

flying

feeling.

We and the river are constant change – ever-evolving, turning a new leaf just as tiny roots stretch their newborn legs into soft, brown soil.

And still we chase, gather, hunt. Nostalgia. Birth. Rebirth. Brown, cracked leaves, brown leaves covered in rain.

(Is home an illusion?)

I reach down, frantically picking up dark brown leaves, shoving them in my pockets – some crack in my hands, some are wet and pliable and I gather them, desperate and hungry – barely noticing the feeling of wet earth between my toes.

“Home.” “Home.”  “Home.”

quickly!

gather

…please.

My pockets are full, bulging with dead leaves.

Is it down on any map?

(True places never are)

I just want to feel safe in the constance of your smile.

Something about the dirt between my toes tells me I’ve got nothing to do but be.

Something about the earth beneath my feet tells me I’m here.

Something about the sand inside my pockets tells me it’s now.

Home is where the heart is. But where is my heart?

I stuff my hands in my pockets and squeeze the soft brown leaves. If I close my eyes and breathe in the deep forest air, I know my heart is in the feeling I get when I hear you say,

“One of the happiest moments in my life was watching the sun rise this morning.”

My heart is in your laughter.

My heart is in “I love you.”

 

It was then that I knew,

Honey, I’m home.

Sunrise

sunrise in san francisco

6am and the world is still

light barely sifting past windowsills and eyelashes

the glow of your voice and the silence of the morning as

the sparkle in your warm light

illuminates the gray

gently waking sleeping birds and sleeping souls

 

we’ll dance across the city

skipping stones of notes and verse

the city comes alive

 

there’s coffee on your doorstep

there’s music in the avenues

there’s grime, there’s history, there’s heartbreak and it wraps around the alleyways

 

but the cracks in my heart are fading

as the leaves begin to fall

 

and for a moment

everything else is still

everything else is quiet

everything fades into white and

 

it’s just me

it’s just you

and the sunrise.