A House by the Sea

Some days, I’m telling you,

there’s a house that’s calling me—

with iris and daffodils and a view to the sea.

Some days I’m telling you,

there’s a room that’s calling me—

with books and a wingback and a hot cuppa tea.

This and that plates and patterns, but clean,

An offbeat collection for comfortable me.

Some days I’m telling you,

there’s a voice that’s calling me—

it sounds like the wind, weaving grace in the trees.

And I sigh and I know that I can not yet go.

And I let that sigh say what fails to find words:

that There is now, is inside of me, 

like Yeats and his Isle of Innsfree.

And one day, one day, that sigh will flower

and I will run free, pure spirit alive

in a house by the sea.

And I will stop and rest there

and I will weep there with the waves

and leave the doors wide open

and let it all, let it all

let it all, let everyone, let every thing

flow through and find place there

in harmony with the grace there

in that house by the sea.

Where the light is the love

and the warmth is the love

and the wind is the love

and the tide is the love

and the daffodils and the iris bow

in their beauty to the beauty

that can not be contained,

reserved, restrained, or deserved.

The beauty is the love here, the song here

made here by the being here,

here within, here around,

here someday forever

with the others, welcoming, 

the unwinding of self.

All of which brought each and all

home to an open door, a sunbeam on petals in a vase,

and enough of what you need.

Kimberly M. King