The Homesickness

The Homesickness
Matthew 11:28

They say you can never go home,
But I did drive by:
Brown and tan mobile home, a bit backslidden--
but the trees were still the same.

I did drive by--twice,
trying to see inside a much loved place.
The trees were still the same:
wrinkled oak and young tree I used to climb.

Trying to see inside a much loved place,
I cannot reach back with eyes or fingertips.
The wrinkled oak and young tree I used to climb,
one's too small, the other still too high.

I cannot reach back with eyes or fingertips.
Forward frightens me.
One's too small, the other still too high.
Don't ask me which is which.

Forward frightens me.
Things I loved have passed with pieces of myself.
Don't ask me which is which.
Now is just a stained glass pane.

Things I loved have passed with pieces of myself.
Yet the sanctuary candle always flames.
Now is just a stained glass pane
of half-told stories toward a sure end.

The sanctuary candle always flames.
Brown and tan mobile home--a bit backslidden--
half-told stories toward a sure end:
and they say you can never go home!