a vision:
I ride my bike down the street —
tired and hungry but content —
at the end of my street
sits my house
with its black and white familiarity
and potently colored door.
it is heralded by a blue and violet sky
with its pillowy lavender and soft pink
a sky I could fall into
I study the sky a bit longer
simply gliding down the street
and notice a single, bright star
it glitters above my window
winking silver one moment
and fuchsia the next.
in its light, I spot
someone standing at my driveway
he waves at me
and the meaning of home
sinks into my bones.
the sun waves goodbye
whisking itself away
to hide behind the house
and I clench the brakes of my bike
halting at the driveway
he still stands there, smiling
the warmest welcome
displayed across his arms.
but I hear the call of someone.
my brother or father or the sky
I turn around to listen
the call echoes along the street
reverberating in my wrists and ankles
pulling at my joints
like a puppeteer pulls at strings
when I turn back to my house
I realize I cannot go home
I am not myself without incompletion
there is no home
that will hold both me and my dreams.
so I get back on my bike
and drift down the street
a single call in the quickly falling night
dictating to me the loneliness
of riding the wrong way.
