Home Coming
Drizzle.
And a loosening of asphalt fill.
Oilshine by streetlight.
Wet flags softening at the Esso station.
This oak door. This oak door.
Inward mists for ten thousand miles
Moisten giant boulders hanging on plain walls,
Mist breath invading layers of tilted clay.
Or else there is nothing there
Clouding the table.
Wisps in a flat mirror.
Demons this painted door discloses
Webbed in a dark house
My home
Whose steps drift into my own
Ten years late.