the one I'd left behind when,
unable to endure I had,
run away to never return, again.
Later, finally grounded I
felt the need for roots and so
I upped and headed home,
having never forgotten that route.
I knocked once on my wooden door,
And then I knocked again,
I knocked until my knuckles bled,
I would not force, but neither would I bend.
An hour later, when my arm was numb,
I glared at the stout doorway,
It had never quite occurred to me
that Home could also run away.