Home

by John Bourke

Occasion had us visit, the other day
Our listed building, inspired to play,
Again, amid the memories of home,
Grooves imprinted over time,
now shorn Of their allure.

I smile in thin gratitude,
See the inner scaffolding imbued
With negated like acceptances,
Conformist, roguish edifice
That spun me into life.

Outside now I stand and hear
The clinking glasses of yesteryear
So far, suddenly, from home
Exiled, tamed, hollow ghost
Watchful and unheard.

And yet, a subtle move,
my feet touch the ground-
The trees, standing solid, smile
The gorgeous gushing water bathes my soul-
I am home.