Home is Where the Heart Is by Robert Bohm
On TV, an evangelist displays
a map of the Mideast, then interprets
a recent Lebanon bombing by quoting Revelation.
Sky Man smokes reefer near a rock garden
on the corner of Jefferson and 21st.
Through the wall, in the next apartment,
the sound of a woman brushing her teeth.
All of this is a prelude to the momentous.
To find it,
wade into the page’s white emptiness
and locate the blizzard-buried mountain peak
waiting to be scaled while the snow falls, unceasing.
Later, if you can, reemerge from the storm, creeping
on your hands and knees back to where the words
form a line that ends
where silence, like an avalanche of sound,
thunders with a meaning
it seems impossible to bear,
but isn’t, at least not anymore.