Arms to send it, arms to encompass

My heart flings itself against its rib and flesh home –
flings as if it could tear away from me and run to him.
It forgets that he made his home in that same
rib and flesh. Though, surely he calls
from the far-off green mountains. And that call is true
as the mountains are steadfast.
His voice comes – like the hand of a lover, home early, over your eyes –
as the sun sets simply between encroaching grey,
arms to send it, arms to encompass.

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