I intuitively understand that I join with them often searching miles down cold dark corridors to where they are really hiding. I pass the mirrors and gargoyles. We play the hide and seek games and sometimes wrestle till agape’s embrace.
Then I must pull away to perform the pirouette then walking back trust them to follow. Thanks to my teachers, I have taken thousands home . It doesn’t work to hold their hands else they would not trust the steps of their own way out.
Home is where I like to live. Home is the special place called community. There is sunshine and warmth. Ugling ducklings do become swans. Friends share stories of their own faraway places.
Sometimes there's one who doesn’t want to come. Just last week I looked over my shoulder a last time at a man who walked away back to the darkness alone.
Today I shiver at the hearth of a fire my mother and father built when I was just a baby. I feel more the draft. The journeys just a little longer . The light at the end of the tunnel sometimes flickers.
But you, my love, wait at the end of day. When I am late I feel you calling.