A Home That Is a Home

Would it be better to stay home, my love?
I could warm your hands in my cupped palms,
or we’ll mull some wine for the winter.

Would it be better to travel, never to stop?
We’ll let our hair stream in the wind
or put on a little theatre of our own

on a pavement in Rio or beneath the streets of Paris.
Anywhere at all. What does it matter?
Another winter is coming.

But there is no snow, nor any melting tears.
It does not hurt. It does not burn. There stands
before our eyes, my love,

the whole world
and all the worlds there are.

Let us go to the one where
home is home
and winter is winter.