Two Homes

I've been thinking about the concept of "home" lately and remembered a poem I wrote while I was living in Italy, it switches back and forth between the two places I consider home:

Pastel paint, red-brick walls,
Terracotta-covered boxes
That serve to protect from raindrops the
size of marbles and
Water-like nebbia that both
Stifles and amazes.

Pastel blue wood, containing eternal
memories of warmth -
Deep inside the base of its
Roots,
breathing silently,
Waiting...

Stone-speckled alley way streets
Curve through the buildings that pose
As if they were already rooted like
sequoias or
Roman bases.

Grand spaces, deep breaths
Of pecan-scented oxygen,
Broad opportunities,
No rose-colored-glass-covered
judgments -
Purity in its essence -
Life.

Gold-leaf flakes flicker
in the moonlight -
CrunchCrunching under black leather
boots,
Smooth sheen
Glossed over
By muddy puddle-water.

Golden sun, burning everyday -
Desert sands disguised as
lush green lawns,
Glistening under drops of
rainbow-stained sprinkler water.

A huge expanse -
A shrinking space -
A shifting emotion -
A permanent love.