it’s desert ice outside

but this diner has thawed my ears

hot coffee in a clean white mug

and a smile when the waitress hears

that I was born in North Carolina

not an hour from her home town

and we used to play the same pizza parlor pinball

and there’s a glance in time suspended

as I wonder how it is

we’ve been swept up just by circumstance

to where the coyote lives

where my days are strips of highway

and she’s wiping tables down

holding on and still waiting for that windfall

but I’ve come home

even though I’ve never had so far to go

I’ve come home

I pay the check and leave the change

from a crumpled ten-dollar bill

head across the street

where VACANCY is burning in neon still

well the night eats up my body heat

and there’s no sign of another

and I find myself slipping down into that black

but things are good

I’ve got a lot of followers of my faith

I’ve got a whole congregation

living in my head these days

and I’m preaching from the pulpit

to cries of “Amen brother”

closing my eyes to feel the warmth come back

and I’ve come home

even though I swear I’ve never been so alone

I’ve come home

I just want to be living as I’m dying

just like everybody here

just want to know

my little flicker of time is worthwhile

and I don’t know where I’m driving to

but I know I’m getting old

and there’s a blessing in every moment every mile

thin white terry bars of soap

and a couple little plastic cups

old Gideons Bible

in the nightstand drawer saying “Go on open up”

well I’ll kneel down on the carpet here

though I never was sure of God

think tonight I’ll give Him

the benefit of the doubt

I switch off the lights and imagine

that waitress outlined in the bed

her hair falling all around me

I smile and shake my head

well we all write our own endings

and we all have our own scars

but tonight I think I see what it’s all about

because I’ve come home

I’ve come h