Going Home Poem by Jonathan Horwitz

Finding my keys in my pocket
before going through the door
I turn around and see the Sun's Light
pouring in the window
walking down the street
I see the last leaf
the Tree has not set loose
I remember my hand reaching last night
for the switch on the bed-side lamp
the child's look of wonder
watching the Moon rising
the thin sheet of ice
on the first frost morning
the blind man, holding hands
with his Lover, taking the chance
to run down the empty midnight street
and the ecstasy in their laughter
all touch somewhere
the memories etched deep
into my soul, reminding me
I am still on my way home