Raindrops dot windows 
like little clear
ornaments hung on
the limbs of 
trees far away 
or like tears
of far off
buildings boo hooing 
that their cold
facades got wet
but mostly they 
cling holding on
peering in hoping 
that for just 
this once they 
won’t be forgotten 

I know so much
about her and yet
she knows not me 
you squirrel me away 
like some dirty dime
store tawdry paperback stuffed 
under mattress or buried 
between bed and wall 
only ever taken out 
after dark and read
with flashlight in hand 
she is I suppose 
your day and I 
will only be night 

I too used 
to go back 
but when back
only meant forward 
I stopped returning 
like a bird
I do suppose 
stops looking for 
its nest that 
was destroyed by 
storms time to 
start looking at 
other places to 
call home now 
maybe over there 
over there anywhere 

And today she 
after twenty years 
stepped foot there 
to the place 
she called home 
alongside of you 
such a miracle 
and a moment 
when the child 
now a man 
takes his mother 
again a girl 
back to where 
all it began 
the angels smiled 
crying happy tears 

In life we
spend a lot 
of time laying 
claim and taking 
what we believe 
is rightfully ours 
but what if 
rather than taking 
we instead learn 
what might be 
ours based upon 
purpose and need
the idea of 
grabbing at anything 
suggests a scarcity 
whereas discovering what 
is actually needed 
seems to suggest 
patience and abundance