One should awaken as I have, I reckon,
among the autumnal October debris
that lies there like litter and leaves me recounting
the hairs-breadth revision of my sanity.
Stone slabs a-grin and the old front door beckons,
a world softly lit with nostalgia and grace;
the spirits within hold the charms and the bounty
of lives lived and love lost in one timeless race.
a bare timber ceiling, the uneven floorboards,
a doorway that calls you to rooms that still breathe;
the four poster bed guards a well-tended fire
and draws me in, clothes me in closer to dream.
my blanket a picture of moonlight’s twin sister,
my pillow your breast neither wanton nor chaste;
the charms of the ageless, the whisper of vespers,
to lie among feathers, to gaze on your face.
but the moment i waken to soft touch, or rustle
of movement mistaken as slumber unfolds,
Black night with it’s voices and visions, it’s shadows,
must all fade to white as your radiance enfolds.
It’s almost like grasping the one truth existing
for no other purpose than making me whole;
I cling to it joyfully, testing it knowingly,
swimming the bold stroke of one in control.
and so this extension just adds to the mansion
that houses my life and my loves and my fate;
my home is now finished, my loneliness vanquished
this home of my heart has a name, and it’s Kate…
jmidworth 
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