Michael Norton


I think I’ll go home but where is that?
When your heart is nothing less then a trap,
And your feelings orbit somewhere out in space.
And your mind still lingers on that simple question of faith.

I think I’ll go south, where the birds do fly,
Under a large fan palm, my thoughts will lie,
My heart will thicken as my mind does roam,
That lingering question of the nature of my home.

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