WELCOME (Please wipe your feet.)

Home is dust 

you don't mind breathing in.

The squeak in wood 

-you know is there-

A jangle of keys,

slamming door.

Home is hands 

finding switches

without help,

knowing exactly how

to turn the shower faucet 

on.

Home is a smell

you didn't know you remembered

-til you had time to forget-

Pausing. Tasting,

reassured.

Home is what you see

when you close your eyes,

and click your heels:

The doormat knows you,

worn and thin.

Home is a sense-

     solid,

translucent,

     immovable-

that you carry

in the crevices

of your mind.