#911 - home

 

5.vii.22

911

3.185

home

 

to the moss wall damp world

python veranda couch

   hello

ten degree midwinter morning

in socks to wash

in boots of least leak

 

no one’s in the wall now

or else they must be sleeping

 

home in the great pile of belonging

under this that

mainly paper and curling

dust, who knows?

 

it’s a long long list

in soggy day

 

home drying logs by the fire

and a tail disappears

who goes there?

 

mattock and gloves job

tug with the weather

makes itself at home

all the one cloud now

 

and indoors slippering

back in recliner

 

or write it blindly

home to bed

 

so many disembodiments

clothes of old trips put by

 

home cosy

my jungle

and must obey

 

a kind of ramshackle pride

full of foliage as we are