On my walk to town I pretend each house I pass might be mine,
so many different shapes and sizes,
each sitting patiently on its haunches waiting for the family to return,
each with its delicate or weighty curtains, dogs or cats.
But the thought of finding another place to live is too much to bear!
I can imagine dozing in this flowery grotto or on that cozy porch,
but if something happened to you, my dear, my love,
the places where I’d feel at home are few,
and even fewer the friends I’d want to join me.
There may be only one home for me —
up to my neck in lake water, gazing at your lively face,
linked to you by my joy in your steady breathing —
you on shore with your book, me with the fish.
Separate and together. In the arms of the planet.