homegoing
​JB Mulligan

​
The log of the day burns low
on the hills behind the airport.
A plane slides slowly across the sky,
brief gathering of strangers.
We are all going home
and leaving again, cycling
through the rapid days.
Someone on the plane
is thinking of you, my love.
Oh, not you specifically,
you are my answer.
But of someone... not much like you,
for all I know. Someone
who centers the stone of that heart,
orbiting through life-space,
cold and eroded
from void and collision,
and warms it.
Someone like you, really.

​You asked me to write you a poem,
and it shouldn’t surprise you
that we are about so much -
as they are, happy as we are.

Tomorrow, someone in love
will be watching my plane
rush home to you.