You called. I am not home.

You called. I am not home.

Instead, as you raised your hand to knock

Home rose from the dust,

And as the words left your lips,

I became to answer.

‘Who are you?’ you asked.

Momentarily the swirling blood and bone took form,

The screaming, craving hurricane shaped a sound,

So that you may glimpse a home, an occupant, an answer

And ne'er witness the chaos rushing in as your back is turned.