i always wake up from my night bus sleeps
whenever i get a sniff of my home.
the used car lot with the long fields behind
and their bottomless space in the dark,
the white sign flashing Wilby in the headlights
rolling into the village,
i never miss them. i always drift out of my sleep
a few minutes before they appear. and even
the tightness that has been in my back
and my leg muscles vanishes knowing i'm here.
ed abbey road lit up in the night by the dazzling
streetlamp on the side of my cottage--
rounding that corner my separation dissolves.
i flow out into everything: the owl shriek,
the black cat, the cool air, the mysterious
church spire hidden in cloud.
not a stranger here: home. i enter my house
with new spring in my steel-toe-capped boots
however tired i've been,
put my bag and my keys down, make tea, then
sit up for hours letting the night fade around me
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