"Homeleaving" by Brent Allen Miller

Homeleaving

By Brent Allen Miller

A smoke scrim conceals the land

and fatigues the sun.

The gray dwelling stands

empty on overcast grass.

The hollow bay window stirs

memories of offkey notes

exhaled from a church organ:

the needy stink of backyard campfires

blankets my shoulders,

burrows soot under my fingernails,

kisses ash upon my cheeks;

indoors, rusty tweezers pluck

secrets from my brow.

Nourished by the dull daylight,

the secrets grow into lies.

With cagey hands, you cull the first falsehood:

I am just like the other boys.

The words weld the deceit to your foundation

but the heat severs my moorings.

I was Outsider.

I was without, afloat.

Within me, a quiet freedom

whispered like warm olive oil

and called away, away—

I followed the happy specter's song.

I breathe in the gauzy scrim

and the sun awakens to share its wisdom:

Only those who leave may find the sea

where all roads submerge into the briny tenderness of beginning.