Going Home

by Margaret V. Doran

a full moon
almost-day bright
star-studded velvet sky
tiny faces in the window
waving goodbye
treasures left behind

long, solitary drive
wisps of gray clouds gather
moonlight consumed
occasional rays escape
shimmer across the water
ride wave-arcs to shore

three strobes pierce the night
blinding photo flashes
endlessly loop bottom to top
bridge lights march to an invisible state
a solitary violet light, a single red
amid the regiment of white

shadow grazes the hillside
dissolves in slopes blacker than my mood
nocturnal owl hunts far
tail lights signal right
unseen vehicles disappear
continue through voided gap

midnight comes and goes
no face at the window
no opening door
within, a fresh fire glows
warms shivering bones
dries tears

treasures are patient
pressure-heated coal
births diamonds

Margaret Doran lives in rural Oregon, writing (whenever there is a free moment) about what she lives and sharing it freely via her Web site: thestorypage.net.