The dream lost shape and meaning;
his voice and face faded
like the final wisps of fog
dissolved by the warm morning sun.

The last vestige to slip away
was the remembered sense
of comfort and love.

There is emptiness,
but not the resounding
barrenness of hopelessness.

It is more like a house,
recently purchased,
awaiting its new furnishings.

My heart is expectant.

There is renewed awareness
of the value of friends and family,
of the gifts they bring
to the bounty of life.

Somewhere among the lost
and found,
in the consciousness of becoming,
I find myself.

It is good to be home.