Seventeen Sundays

I am this rag tag bag
of splintered bone
alone was I until we met
no day would pass without regret
and now a home
to heal
forget,
remember how to feel,
let time within its dwelling be
the hedgehog of anxiety
(Slow and spiky)
I am connect and suspect you are
how far to come
how far a star
how far this rag tag bag of bone has been and back and now at home
time and space got commonplace the day I looked into your face and
nearly choked on my surprise to see myself deep in those eyes
and being lost
I found that being lost is not being lost at all
it is the finding of oneself within another and being lost by being
found.

© 2016, John Smallshaw.