timing

did you think,
that after all this time,
these parts of me were still separate:

that coming inside me
was different to taking off your shoes in my lounge,
or holding my child
or reading that poem I wrote of you
or eating that winter supper.

homecoming
is not a place
and home is not
the left behind room you will have packed your stuff in.

I just don't know any more,
I'm no longer weaving threads
or waiting
for you to cast on another moment
or drop another blue loop
when you feel like it.

of course
with no one
doing
anything
at all
time still moves on, light beams casting shadows, second hand turning
nothing stops at all.