I’m coming home
From far flung flings
and flailing things
like starfish arms, gripping rock, torn by tide.
.
I’m coming home
to truth tuned tightly
and played upon my harp
like melodies that echo in the wind
from unplucked strings.
.
I’m coming home
in isolated indigo tiptoeing
in Indian moccasins, like flocks I’ve seen
in creeping dreams.
.
I’m coming home
only you will know me
dancing past in dazzling light
and carried on the breeze
but you will know
when I am home.
Shawn L. Bird 
I love this poem and especially the ‘truth tuned tightly’ which allows for so much of the normal life situations we wrestle with — lovely!
Thank you, Marge. My harp is sitting in the living room, taunting me with metaphors (and with guilt trips about not practising).