Like Distant Lovers

Late at night and the tourists have moved
to whatever is next.
You remain.

Nothing here is spectacle any longer.
It is home. Even far away, it is home
and anywhere else

spawns yearning.
Not a pain exactly,
simply something missing.

the light and dark something different
than where you are, something richer
and more comfortable,

like it was made for you
and you for it.
Like distant lovers you rejoice

and weep.

About this poem

About Venice, which was home before I ever saw it, and is more so having been there. About seeing deeper than most of us take the time to see. About love. About spirituality. Poetry is never about one thing.

The photograph was taken in Venice, just outside our hotel on our recent visit.

Be well. Travel wisely,

Tom