The
angel said, "His house is burning."
Feeling hot, he awoke.
No
smell of smoke, no flame, but all was well.
The room seemed the same, but
was not. He
had locked himself into home like a child in a fright.
It felt like jail,
himself the governor.
Now, wearing a temporary look,
it warms him and is
bright, burning
bright while bright outside
the sun, white clouds and reddening trees burn.
Home
is a place we have to leave.
Love it, but don't return. |