He told me that he will be around.
Said to keep on waiting for him,
for a chance, to bring us once more into each other’s spheres.
But I was the sound of thunder, lonely nights and divorce in Paris.
I was tombstones in the open air, faces grave and fallen, still.
I feared to tread his oceans barefoot.
You were like the sojourner, yearning to find your heart a home.
I didn’t know that hearts were meant to dwell in each other.
That is what we call home. Teach me then, still.