Is Home

A tiny speck of dust,
Glinting, squinting –
Floating serenely  over the black fuzz that stretches into the mind’s eye,
Coating every inch of pathway with thought and wonder.

How might one meander such uncertainty?
Surely I cannot just plant one foot in front of the other so simply?
What if cartoon crocodiles climb out of the path and engulf my light?
If there were such things I may need to hibernate.

Finally I shall follow the dancing lint,
They are odd but they are also light among a dark horizon,
Full of lies but my eyes are tainted and prone to organize,
Not like yours that glimmer with a million futures.

Seven stepping-stones reach from home,
It’s not what you think and it’s not where I left,
I’ll be fine from here, you see that tree? I know it, I know my way now.
I’ve never been here but somehow I have.

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