On a tiny boat,
they spent three days in early summer,
eating fresh bread,
watching the ducklings next door,
tending to their delicate love.
He called that place home a long time ago and
remains moved at its traits.
He, still, fits right in but stays
just that bit on the sidelines;
humans aren’t made to go from inhabitant to visitor – or passer-by.
She, too, has this nostalgia for times and places long ago and – lost.
For these two, home has become a state
of mutual understanding.
On the day of tales, talks and fire,
there is still hope that
even if this state is never permanent,
its promise lives.
And sure enough, it comes around from time to time,
never knocking,
always leaving the door open.