Where is the place we live…
this foreign land
that slept in slumbers of familiarity
for so many eons?
Yet we awaken
with a strange light
and our faces
fall short
of closeness
in the mirrors
of other’s times.

There is a smallness
in the heart
that turns back on itself
and searches for a source…
folds and folds
enfolds
a warm blanket now cold
with dew
 of a dawn
odd
in sensation
yet
this is our home…

written 9/29/16 from a an improvisation of spoken poetry