After all this dreaming I'll come home again
when my feet have broken down this road
and all its twists and turns submit themselves
to me.

When the edges blur and the shine peels off
and all that is left is me - made beautiful in you -
beside a clear lake without cigarette buts or broken bottles
in pebble worn shoes that ought to be discarded
but won't.

after all this seeing I'll come home again
with fresh eyes and changed ears
to see and hear newness in old
with joy

with patience

in you.