When I came in from running in the rain and wind,
the house knew exactly where I’d been.
Why didn’t you take me? it said.
I looked around the room — the books, the desk,
the paintings, the photographs, the antique odds and ends.
You’re right, I said. It’s like a desert in here. Death Valley.
And the walls closed in, with all their strange perfume.
They held me close, and pressed me to their lips.
I tried to catch my breath. Ran out again.
Like this.
.
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Categories: Sweet Sleep and Bare Feet
Tags: Antiques, Books, Death Valley, Deserts, Desks, Freedom, Houses, Lips, Paintings, Perfume, Photographs, Rain, Running, Walls, Wind
William Michaelian 
I think I liked it better when you were walking towards home. We need you here… դանդաղ, դանդաղ.
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Home? I’ll never leave it — quickly, slowly, or any other way. It’s such a glorious, vast expanse — a breath, a star bouquet.
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Phew!
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Many are called. Phew are chosen.
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Zuhause – alles gehört dazu, weil es zu einem gehört – Haus, Hof, Garten, Wiesen und Wälder ringsum, der Strom …. Das Wort
besitzt eine enge, eine weite, eine innere und eine äußere Bedeutung…
DAS war mir auch wieder eine Überlegung wert, danke, lieber William…
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Thank you, too, Edith. Yes, it’s all home, and I’m glad we’re friends, because we’re all neighbors here, and all part of one family.
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Genau so fühle ich es auch. Auch ich bin froh über unsere Freundschaft. Wenn sie auch nur im Geben und Nehmen von Gedanken besteht, sie ist mir sehr, sehr wichtig. DU bist wichtig.
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We all are. Really, it’s a miracle that we’re able to communicate this way, across languages and across the world. I feel very fortunate.
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