Someone’s Home Again

Sunlight warms up this 

cool morning.

My son just walked in.

He spent last night 

on my Dad’s couch;

he just got home from a 

recent visit up north

 to his girlfriend—

but this isn’t his home anymore.

Not like it was.

It will always be home, 

but his old home,

just like his grandpa’s 

was once my home, 

but will always be 

his grandpa’s home,

just like this morning, 

cool, but warmed up 

with a westbound sun

rising in the east.

I guess you can go 

to someone’s 

home again.