I am waiting for the boarding call to sound.

To carry feet homeward, standing tall and waver amidst the rushing.

I am the slender grass that bends to the pressure of rushing water,

Feet, hands, eyes. A hungry herding din that rises up.

They glance then turn away, bleary voices mumbling,

malcontent of the onward crowding crush to the next plane.

Weary crowd that presses me to action,

to move, restless salmon-rush pushing on to Home,

where he is, that first homecoming to a place I’ve never known.

To rest at long last, silently amidst the trees, the roses, his arms.