Hello

Feet have

almost gotten

home - through the gate,

the path, a door,

turning green

to grey and brown;

from natural to man-

made - corroborated

by harder edges

and the sounds

of one hand turning

a handle’s practical

activity exhibiting

pattern and habit:

splitting a second. This

has happened many, many times

before - but there’s

a pulse today,

an unending slowness

and a longing old

seeking of senses

zooming their fibres

towards, out, and passing

a dovetail of door jamb’s

open inclusion

compression and feeling

a spot of reality;

a hug with my son

who whispers my ear

‘Daddy, hello;

you’re alive.’