It’s a scene I’ve seen before,
Deja Vu discovered on a path already
tread alone as a single
man with dreams, doubts, and
round-a-bouts to call his own.
It’s a porch suspended between the
pitch of April showers and
a slowing breath, awaited mist
stepping its cool bare feet down
my wooden stairs.
It’s peace, is what it is. And
when you enter our improvised
stage, the tips of your
fingers curled around our screen
door, inching toward our sanctuary,
it’s a dream realized, a present
and a gift.