Lost Sanctuary

Just now, God knows why,
I remembered my long dead mother's
telephone number.

This odd recollection
gave cold relaxation
to my tired, snappish mood.

The warm welcome
she offered me,
the assurance of food,

the spare bed,
the familiar disagreements,
they were always available.

Now, this sanctuary,
this feel of childhood arguments,
this place of reconciliation,

is lost.

image: po

Dylan Harris

it's my hands
my difficulty with melancholy
hence the coldness
fear in flight, god
dog sea
push pop

© & licence
site home

this archive is hosted by arts & ego
© 1978-2023 dylan harris