For Margaret
John Long
The house and land
of childhood
meant home to me.
Every inch of house
the acre of land
I knew completely,
intimately.
The surrounding woods
and fields
still imprinted on me.
Now, stronger than
building or land or possessions,
home is connection.
Home is where you are.
That simple, that complex.
Like loons calling across
a lake at nighttime,
song birds in trees,
coyotes howling in the dark,
we are animals, checking constantly:
Are you here?
Yes, I’m here.
Are you?
Yes.
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