Wind Chimes and Train Whistles [justin]

Wind chimes and train whistles dance
outside our new home. Morning
sun peers over the old, worn steel
factory to the East, light
returns from the West as it
jumps off the red brick across
the street. Illumination
fills our entryway – warm, not
piercing. The wandering light
extends the aura of dawn
past outsiders awareness.
The newly veiled stairs creek as
feet visit lightly. The house
is nearing a century,
though with us only around
a fortnight. Dressed up nice, but
with old bones and forgetful
sinews. Strong; falling apart,
degenerating; steadfast.
Who knows what lies underneath?

Taste and see, God our refuge.
Our South border is shared with
Catholics and paper saints
guarding the windows. To the
North, perceived pagans looking
for work, wanting more than here.
Our place is in between. It’s
where we belong. We are the
same as our neighbors; we are
different too. Everyone’s a
mystery; beauty and dark
colliding, screaming out for
liberation, but content
in complaint and restraint. Still,
who knows what lies underneath.

My Queen and Princess lie still
asleep next to each other.
A gap shown where I repose,
gone early with not nearly
enough dreams dreamt. Building and
tilling a house, a city,
a kingdom already-not-
yet come takes time and mind. But
what is the world without a
dwelling place home? My girls are
forever around, but not
a simple leaf, rather an
infinitely profound home
with endless caverns to dive
into and explore. Who knows
what lies underneath? The light
from the morning sky is with
them, radiant inside.
Rest is found in a Father’s
arms, a wives heart and eyes, and
a daughters golden state smile.