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Home (10/28/09)

January 2, 2010

sometimes, in the look of a house,
a drift barely wakes some road nearby,
some trash is singing brightly,
some love is humming quietly.

walking, footsteps light,
disturbing nothing,
lost in thoughts.

questions are asking,
people being fooled.

a day goes by,
and i can hear it,

and each night comes,
as softly as the preceding one,

and every smile’s the same.

but if you listen closely,
sometimes there’s a difference,
just in the way you plod along slowly,
with the same hanging questions,
the same hands in pockets,

but the moon is brighter and your teeth
tougher than before.

a sandbox pales in streetlamp glows,

and a happiness grows intermittently
like sand insidiously spreading between one’s toes.

and when it comes,
all you can do is walk.

the days go on without you
and you go through them and around

what’s the difference between now and then?

just the feel of home.

(sometimes all home means
is the place where you ask your questions)

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