Might Yet

If you glance at the right patch
Of dirt, or just the right kind
Of dirt for you, bet you sense

A sort of fond calm, a warm
Thought that lacks words of its own.
You’ll know it once you feel it,

But you can’t quite fix on it.
When you were a child (yes, you)
There was some spot sweet to you.

Life then might have been dull, cruel,
Locked in a room, trapped in cars
Or tent camps, lived on the streets,

But it’s still a good bet dirt,
Some bit of Earth, type of soil,
Left a smudge back of your mind,

And now when you find that smell
In some spot no one else loves
You feel you might make it home.