There is a gentle light shining
in this place not yet home,
pouring hope into a hold
beginning to pull on my grip.

There is a light, a subtle light
adding a lightness to all
that is weighing; the furniture,
the fittings, the fitting into a city
that has not changed
during my absence while I
have not stopped,
a city often angry
as I search for a place
of solitude amid all that leans
towards arrogance, of comfort
to come in from the chaos
and the clutter and the claws
clutching at scraps in the cold
corners the commenters
are unconcerned with.

Tonight, there is a gentle light
to lay under and dream
of what will go where
in this house soon to be a home.

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

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