A Dream Home

A Dream Home

•

And I have dreamed

of the morning coming in

like a bird through the window

not burdened by a thought.

The Design of a House, Wendell Berry

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A Google map bears its photo:

bi-levelled and yellow, with

white trimming the windows,

except the small semi-sundial

“looking glass” on the white door –

eye-level now; the white-beamed

porch which once bore

bleeding hearts from four planters

all five summers, it seemed.

And I have dreamed

•

of the red and blue

bathing suits dripping with

the backyard sprinkler's joy,

and the four-and-five-year-old

fingers holding sticks of home-

made popsicles dripping thin

under two small red rooves

and an Alberta blue sky's light

replaying notes on our skin

of the morning coming in

•

from a forgotten place

that this house recalls

in its four rooms of grace-

granted looking to that purple

peace on green re-beginnings —

wet grass under a girl's bare toe

big-dipping into eternity,

where home is returning

in the orange leaves of now

like a bird through the window

•

on a winter late morning

when the sun beams up

from white-covered worlds

made one through the snow,

and an old woman will go to let in

the clear that heaven brought,

if even for a moment,

and see a rainbow's colours in

light her looking glass has caught,

not burdened by a thought.