I watch the harbor through the falling snow
the sky and sea form one vast, gray tableau
the sun is nothing but a weak, background glow
the scene draws me, as if hypnotically.

Five mile’s lighthouse warnings go unvoiced
its strobes not lashing out, so what’s its point
it stands majestically but disappoints
replaced electronically

A tiny lobster boat makes its landward way
towards the inlet from the wider channel bay
a powdery blizzard is underway
which melts into the mirror sea.

Ospreys still hunt round the lobsterman's pride
snowflakes stain them as they soar and glide
other seabirds huddle side by side
shivering and crowing lividly.

Through the narrows the lonely boat steams
past icy Luddington Rock and East Breakwater's breech
its berths and moorings, within minutes reach
and sadly, it’s time for me to leave.
.
.
Songs for this:
Far Far Away (Charles Tone Mix) [feat. Brenda Boykin] by Tape Five
Nobody by Mitski

I look out my bedroom window
and I see the church
that has lost its steeple
in a bad storm.
This is my home.

I look out my bedroom window
and I see the basketball hoop
where countless people
have attempted its rim.
This is my home.

I look out my bedroom window
and I see the soccer goal
where many hours of games have taken place
and I see the dented garage behind it from our many failed shots.
This is my home.

I look out my bedroom window
and I see the stump
from the tree that stood outside our house
for many years.
This is my home.

I look out my bedroom window
and see the tiny little sandbox
where we would play for hours
while Mom would sit in her chair and read.
This is my home.

I look out my bedroom window
and see the holes in the ground
where our swingset used to be and where
hours were spent pretending the ground was lava.
This is my home.

I look out my bedroom window
and I see the tiny slide
that we would slide down into the mini pool
as we were having the time of our lives.
This is my home.

I look out my bedroom window
and I see the burn pile
where we always said we’d have bonfires
but we hardly ever did.
This is my home.

Thinking back on all of this,
so much nostalgia rushes to me
and so many memories
come flooding back.

In reality, this isn’t my home
and this isn’t my bedroom window.
All of these views
are now being enjoyed
by another little girl,
just as I once was.

No matter where I go in life
I will never forget
the special memories
from my childhood home.

I’m thankful for my childhood
and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
I’m thankful for the people
and I’m thankful for the places I got to go.
No matter what’s in store for me
and where life takes me,
Michigan will always be my home.

Life is a series of tiring verbs
as I wade through the
ashes of orchids.
I'm a vagabond with
a ragged soul
coming for you *******
a lonesome road.
I float aimless,
like an acorn in
a mountain stream.
The death of dreams smells
like autumn leaves,
lonely as driftwood.

Home is not going to be
a white door at the
end of a sidewalk.
It's bigger and broader,
and can't fit behind a
fence and walls.
It will always be the
sum of my
memories and longings.

Home is walking the streets,
hand in hand,
with our son on my shoulders.
Home is lying in
the grass with your
fingers in my beard, and hope
oozing from your blue eyes.
It's eating sushi and laughing at
our accidental touch of hands,
reaching together for
the last California roll;
avocado safe at
a sun-dappled table.

I'm drifting lost on
a southern wind.
When I'm with you again,
wherever that is,
I'll be home.

neon lights
illuminate the night’s
heavy clouds

while rain muffles
the constant urban humming

pierced by distant sirens
moving slowly
through concrete canyons.

On on
both good
Off on
you pick me up
On off
I pick you up
Off off
We stop and rest