I finally figured out my pillow arrangement, and for some reason, I think this means my heart is figuring out the piece of home that means here


Isn’t a word I’d ever really use to describe my free-spirited being in a land that can ever only be a half-home for passers through

yet my eyes are being opened to a swap my heart has wrought

slide settled away

for present

and dip present

in the deep of slow

I'm present to the broken buzz of the black fan from my host family now breezing my beach room

present to yellow toes on sheep rugs, warm light from alone isles in big stores, small gold hoops meaning growing, simple joy

I'm present to what’s around, what’s in

slow to the wonder of existence

to being a being of an embodied spirit

a soul in a body, a temporary home

a body in a place, a temporary home

where joy takes on flesh

and pain becomes locked in the time space continuum

and control is maybe at best, illusory 

and I’m freed by wonder of wondering how little I know, but how much air still fills my lungs


present slow

I finally figured out my pillow arrangement

and pieces of instability fall into the stable place of temporary hold, hugged by here

maybe that is all I need


I definitely don't want this to be a monologue. What are your thoughts? Questions? Ideas?