Turn Towards Home
A simple mirrored glare, a guise;
There isn't a shoulder turned
Towards ice that melts
On faces that take away
All that I have kept secret.
Stern chins make the grass grow.
With the motor of nature
Turned towards the sun we make
Our beds in slithering ravines
Forever slipping down to the places
Mother told us not to play.
When the sun turns
Towards the sunflower
It takes a leap of grain-size
A step of solar
And moves our lives like
Watch hands turn.
If the machine of graze
Were to launch it's cancer on me,
I would turn towards your face
And have the pasture etched
With the ebb of you hair
Replacing what God told me was beauty
Between the shepherd and the butcher
How many heads have laid?
With a cupped rigid hand,
A chin grabbed, and then
Turned towards the window
A family takes its supper
With the trust of the day
When there were books in my palm,
Like weighted worlds of waiting,
I was happiest in my turn.
I was blessed with the moon toward my face
And my back to the seas
As if someone had saved the slightest
Verse just for me.
