Over soup

I'm reminded of a line from a song by Larry Norman: This earth is not my home. As I wait and watch for a new heaven and a new earth, I find certain comfortable places to hang out, realizing, of course, this too will pass.

Over soup

She reminds me

I have made my own niche

Or perhaps

It was waiting for me

A Catharine-sized hole

Maybe a nest

Maybe a spot

To inhabit.

Wherever I find myself

There I am,

And certainly

Most certainly

Someone will cross in front

Or behind.

I will say

There you are

There you are

I knew you were coming

Foxes have holes

Birds have nests

Sometimes I do too.

Sometimes

There is simply nowhere

To lay my head.

Sometimes everyone else

Seems to be asleep.