Exile

Exile

I.
I am an exile in my own home,
wanton,
estranged.
Could you remind me of
the soils touch & scent,
before I retreat deeper
into the white noise?
Solemn angel.
Keeps dancing out of reach &
calling.
You remind me of
emptiness as naive bliss,
speaking in hushed tones,
eternity was possible,
as we lay deep.

Juts five years have passed &
suddenly I no longer feel immortal,
though from time to time I still
catch the echo between
each space.
And in those moments,
the universe is infinite again.

II.
I am an exile in my own
home, so I have adopted
these cold granite slabs and
carelessly discarded youths
as Aunts and Cousins.
So I will grasp heaven in
my hands like a garden,
and squeeze the juices
of eternity from its fruit,
letting them run over until
everything sighs and breaths again.

III.
I am an exile in my own mind,
creating a void which expands
and contracts leaving its sporadic footprints
stamped through time.
In the end, I’m just waiting in the shadows,
to dance with you again.