Take me home, you of so few days,
you nurturers of the sage and sand years
when the air was young and stood
empty handed beyond the horizon.

Take me to your folded breath,
your sturdy limbs and misty longing
among the hours of going to and fro
finding solace winding the springs

of all the time in the world where we stood,
our innocence growing in wild profusion,
as if peering through the wrong end of the telescope
seeing nothing but what lay before us in sweet sunlight.