HOME
from Poetry of Place, Lime Kiln Park 7/21/24
Home is my van
it carries me from point to point
place to place.
My home is movement.
My houseless home
is a vintage Airstream
on a slope of salal
in the shade of Evergreens
on muddy-rutted Lodgepole Lane.
Home is at the end
of a forty-minute ferry
and a five hour wait.
If you've scheduled an emergency
count on being late.
Home is the madronas
on San Juan Island
erect, majestic, peely barked
towering sentinels
of Lime Kiln Park.
Home is the struggling
Madrona listing seaward
on sleepy Lopez Island.
Clinging to a crumbling cliff
shallow-rooted branches shift
Twiggy-fingered leafless limbs
uplift
with the tidal breeze
shadows on the sand
reaching for the Salish Sea.
Home is the gentle, warm
spongy-pliant moss beneath my feet,
a temporary floor
for barefoot journeys, the sensation
of beginning