The dew eyed boy went with you as you hastened off to meet them
with the lonesome dove above to give you comfort in your sorrow and
the morning stretched forever until the noon day came to collect you with the remnants of the night still on your clothes.
then they came because they’d heard about a sermon to be given on the mountainside where Eden was a memory to the living and they sat to ponder over words that flowed like salted water,
words that stung with bitter kindness
words that opened up their blindness and
the dew eyed boy was bound up in the movement of the moment,
tied to words of hope and
passion raced across the opened faces,
these are places we call home.
© 2017, John Smallshaw.