The Home
The home is there where
the windows are trees of lake.
The gardens fuse with horizons
and you're a Queen without a kingdom.
A breath - the morning dew
before the sun has shone,
before the Eye of night.
How do they call you?
Your name is lost
in dusty roads.
I shouldn't give you other name
or other sense.
I won't sprinkle water above you
and I have no shirt.
My talk to River stays,
a candle lit...
And this home is a stone, a color and manna.
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