the weather

Coming home we step
into melancholy and memory 

and the world where we lived,
now transformed by our travels. 

Then stepping out the door again,
we find we are under those same
emotional skies, no matter where

we go, the rooms we have lived in
remain within us, and the weather
we've walked out into and lived under
- we've brought it all along. Tiny objects
set sail and get nowhere, huge stormclouds
we've weathered are shrunk to the size
of armchairs we settle into, as

the affliction settles over us, everywhere
we go. 

We live in a world haunted
by rain and loss of home, nomads
wherever we roam or settle,
with only the roof of the blue sky
above it all, above all the storms,
forever over our hearts:

and unconquerable.