Her ocean eye

You will witness her heart when her voice packed in a humble quiet box, speaks that beauty.. Her prayer spilling that heart and there will be nothing better than that invitation. It is best not to rip into it.. inside is that ticket and it carries a single passenger.

You will know it is home because the door is locked and unlocked on breath and longing. The miles are brilliantly spaced and the candles mark the distance. It is breath and longing. It is honest and sanity lives in the virtue of a heart open to be planted.

You will know the dough is ready and the rolling of it, the cutting of it reveals the one winter you left only to return. This season is one of the ground littered with olives and every kiss is fresh. You stand face to face and finally open the record she bought. She will buy others but this is the opening and the words are not changed. This is the moment you know her heart. It is warm like war and warm like the water the dishes are washed in. It is warm like the bread, and it is a new thought and it is a subtle awareness… somewhat unseen…somewhat familiar.

You will know her heart and that heart will be your home, that home will yield that bread and the music will find you virtuous. The song is written and the experience of home is well traveled. She is the making of the structure…. You will know the wolf by the bite and the heart by the voice, you will know you are home. Home is the first record. It is shared in the white swells and tumbling hazel of her eyes. You are home.

Art credit: The Golden Rose by — Donato Giancola

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