It’s a small home just North of the desert city
With a table that blocks the path to the kitchen
And a commuter’s bike stowed between the microwave and the Papasan chair.
The furnishings make an eclectic collection in various shades of brown
And the sink is making the kind of noise that makes one nervous.
This is a home, which is so much more than a house.
If you sit very still, you may hear the sounds of lives being well-lived
Between the bookshelves and the musical instruments that receive so much care and use,
Beneath the saints that grace the walls, who would almost certainly grace the home with their presence if able–
And if they arrived early enough, they would enter to the aroma of freshly-ground coffee or a pot of Earl Grey tea.