Going Home
The dream of leave-taking,
never as sweet as the actual leaving.
No more explaining how this Southern town
leaches like calcium sucked from bones,
the bending near to breaking.
Think desert. Think lonesome wolf howls.
Hollow goodbyes echo empty
even to my own ears. A nose
opens in anticipation of home,
the scent of years beckoning.
I airplane arms and run
up the interstate of my mind
like a toddler convinced
lanes can fit into an embrace.
I settle for hugging trees,
nuzzle leaves and recall
childhood in a pinetum of peace,
the spice notes of conifers
begging, begging
to be swallowed again.
