"I long to reach my home and see the day
of my return. It is my never-failing wish."
-Homer, The Odyssey
i lived on the west coast
and longed for the parched hills of my father,
the smell of sage like a fable
and the aspens gold in rutted groves
now I live where the sun blisters
and long for the heavy rush of the sea,
trillium, and the melodies of winter wrens
haunting the sunless woods
how could there be two worlds
and not one for me - why can't my mind
settle for the place beneath my feet?
it is the dreamer who is never content,
reaching too far into the future
and unwilling to die in the past
and if I stopped dreaming,
would I cease to create my worlds -
and longing some reckless notion of life?