Spring steals
Winter’s gala
the warmth of momma’s quilt.
Love burns
underneath the downy softness
curled between our toes.

Home where are you
in a wounded person’s eyes
reflecting faces
solitude, just you and I.

Summer burns
the cooling autumn sky
shadows appear longer
the oranges brighter
still, the rustling leaves
settle to make a bed.

Home where are you
in a wounded person’s eyes
reflecting diamonds
inviting us come rest awhile.