Homecoming

They knew my name and saved me 

a corner of a far field  

where under a library of dreams 

I’d built a closet, hung the ghosts

of all I’d forgotten. 

The moon fell through its changes,

numbers through an almanac,

accumulating years 

in a forgotten necrology

in which I was to have been listed,

was to have been made past tense.

But I’d gone forgotten between 

the recipe contests, meteor showers

and eclipses, forgotten, a sweet 

redundancy among anecdotes and husbandry.

And so the wonder of them

knowing my name here 

where weeds grew

wan and bright as death

was truly something, 

to be stood

like snow inside a crystal,

that is to say, to hear 

my name just then was more 

than a kindness.

Beyond, the forest was undressing

on the doorstep of winter

and the stars coming out

one after another

and while the set change continued

you arrived

and sang me a story,

helped me build the ladder

from which one day 

I would see over the horizon

and wave 

to those still waving back.