It’s morning, and I’m headed home,
across the sound, across the sky,
my ranging thoughts preceding me –
how wide they fly

Could be we’re always going home,
drifting steadily on friendly winds,
finding ways to stretch in our expression
of what we are, and what can draw us on

Could be that what we grasp in glimpses,
the singular bright moments of the day,
will own us more and more, till we inhabit
a realm of light, a swift expanding way.

©Wendy Mulhern
August 30, 2022