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.