A
Dream of Home
In
a dream I was standing on the moon
Watching
the earth rise on a field of stars.
It
felt completely natural, like home,
Though
there was no one else, I was alone.
There
was an atmosphere, the wind was warm
And
I did not have to wear a space suit;
I
wore shoes, pants, a shirt; which seemed to suit
The
situation. It seemed that the moon
Was
like the Arizona desert; warm,
Stark,
silent, with a nightscape thick with stars.
In
such a place you aren’t really alone,
There’s
the feeling that the cosmos is your home.
The
moonscape felt familiar, like home,
Or
the strange way Dad’s hand-me down suit
Fits
just right. Sometimes, when I am alone,
I
will look up at the face of the moon,
Or,
if the moon is new, at the bright stars,
And
feel within a touch that’s kind and warm.
The
first spring wind is singularly warm,
And
there are places you’ll always call home,
Distant
galaxies give birth to new stars,
While
these cleaning rags were once a new suit
That
I wore while dancing under the moon,
A
memory that says I’m not alone.
Solitude
does not mean being alone,
That’s
why my lunar solitude was warm,
That’s
why the rocks and dust upon the moon
Looked
like the furnishings one finds at home,
Or
clothes hung in a closet, shirts and suits,
Or
the sparkling light of the summer stars.
Some
seasons are known only by the stars,
Though
distances are great stars aren’t alone.
Yesterday
a friend bought me a new suit.
At
the memorial it felt warm,
The
service took place in her old wood home;
After,
people lingered until the moon,
The
summer moon, and the numberless stars,
Like
a perfect suit for a night that’s warm,
Touched
us with a type of grace that’s felt at home when we’re alone.
