67 percent

Home and the heart, often
tied together by simple platitudes;
familiarity of a place, a face, tied
to common surroundings and goals.
Wholeness of being seen as
a place to come home to.

What if, to be whole,
you have to divide?

Home is in pieces.

As I lie here, scribbling this in
the tidier corners of my mind,
a piece slumbers in my arms,
the fit like that of a lost puzzle.
Face smooth and content in his
snore-filled reverie, this piece
makes me want to be more than merely.

Another piece lies distant, quiet
in his own tossing, twitching sleep.
Angular joints make him impossible to hold.
Hard planes take him beyond my touch.
This piece is sometimes hard to love,
but for the spark of his soul, I press on.

Heart and mind find
some shelter in both -
a kindred feeling beyond
walls and schedules, past
the mundane details of address.
This. And that. Together. My heart.

Can I stretch like a rubber band,
caught on two points and made to thrum?

This hurts.