Coming To

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.