Homing Poem by Tony Kemp

Warmly cocooned from the chill air,
becoming aware,
I know, with time, I must go;
and though reluctant to quit
my silky space,
I heart in mouth,
slip out,
born,
and dart
through the starkness,
naked,
barely seeing,
alarm
pulsing with the blood-rush
in my bluish veins,
into a silence
in which I,
shivering,
spout forth,
marking my territory,
extending my boundaries.

Aeons pass,
passing,
eyes adjusting.

Ready at last,
relieved,
less-alarmed,
more-conscious,
alive,
still a-chilled,
returning
to find the hollow
in my pillow
defined,
unmoved,
unruffled;
outlined – my head;
my bed
yet warm,
yet welcome,
yet womb.