the crunch of the driveway

ah, the crunch of the driveway
the swing of ghostly headlight through grass and over barn
the dry ivy crumbling over wire frame on the window sill
the toppling stack
of
slippery mail
the wink
wink
wink of phone messages,
strewn clothing that didn't make the final packing-cut,
and unmade Sunday morning bedding, circa pre-vacation
( a different person was I back then, so very two-dimensional.
knowing faraway places only via brochures!)

ah, the empty fridge
the half-drunk-up carton of (now dubiously drinkable) milk
the shriveled kitchen fruit of summer
the surely-bursting garden tomato on midnight vine

all these crowd to greet me
home
from my brimful-cup of journey so fine.