Saturday, 8 October 2011

Home for Norah

I walked by the forgotten home
Of her youth
The wind sailing through broken windows
Beckoning the aged, blackened wood
To speak and sing.
I walked by ghosts and
Through the sun
Lighting a dead lamp with life
I took a page
Wet with yellow light and walls and
I wrote this down,
Not by the sweat on the brow
Of your weather-beaten blue eyes
That haunt your lovers and have
Seen too much but never enough.
Not by the river that flows
Through your skin, flooding with rage when it rains
Leaving lines of sand.
And not, by your wise hands that
Hold these green, breathing mountains
That rise and fall and make
Roads along the moon.
I will heal by the soles
Of your ashen feet
That mirror the land
You call home.

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