I long to hear that prickly din before
The sickly sun surrounds this sooty space
I call my home. A home without the floor
To make a bed or dream of dreams to chase
I left myself behind a while ago
To sit atop the tiny wall I’d built
Around my home, in white, awash, aglow
And take a plunge to rid me of the guilt
The guilt that I would know not what it meant
To step outside and never to come back.
Now far enough, I’m as serene as spent
To ever hear that din of white and black
What distance is as far enough from self,
As one that questions whither you belong?
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