Coming To

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COMING TO


In the swirling, whirling realm 

        of blue-gray possibility, 

                it was—as it so often seems


to be—the light 

        fixture which found me, 

                quietly taking my hand 


and leading me through 

        the labyrinth of dream-land

                back here, that is to say home, where—


if I’m thinking straight—

        turns out I never 

                actually left. Either way,


beneath the steady gaze

        of its eye and held in the slow

                dizziness of its arms


is as good a place as any

        to drift back asleep,

                its breath blessing my cheek.


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