The Haven

The Haven/ Dublin, Ireland 
words from and art, poetry & music soirée

Home was right here. In hands held. Lemon cake crumbs. Stairs leading up. Let our sorry be replaced with thank you. I want to apologize but won't be eloquent for this fickle heart can't quite keep the vocabulary. So instead I say thank you. For sitting with me. For running in circles around the world with me. For giving me clean socks and bites of chocolate. Cups of tea. For presence. An education of friendship. Sincere and sacred, the service past Sunday. Coffee cups held with one hand. Full bellies with rich food. We are wet paint. Washed out and thick garden dirt waiting for the spring. Every city has a soul, these souls make cities. A Haven, not a house but a home. The drama of the day to day. Olive's laughter lifts us. Toys dumped out in the middle of it making the mess a bit more colorful Dance parties on Monday, gifts from the good one on Tuesday. We drink the new wine on Wednesday. We have a destination. We know where we belong to. But don't neglect the journey. Expecting, dreaming until dawn. Joy in the middle of it all. 

Michelle// words for a similar soul

You are seen. The upright bass in the room. Tall and present, deep but no silent. Keeping the heart beat, breathing. Breath. The life that enters every few seconds. Yet unproved, unnoticed until it's gone. You are oxygen green trees. Emerald marvels lying on sunlit marble. You are a handwritten poem in the margins of a vintage book- top shelf and leather bound, smelling of patchouli oil and China cabinets where precious things are held. Sacrifice and sound.