Home

 Sometimes I wish I could smell the fresh cut grass,

Feel the heat of the trampoline beneath my bare feet.

To see the same view, of the small town, and the skate-park

Through familiar sliding glass doors.

Home.

The wind whips up, quick and sharp,

Then dies again and you can feel the warm kiss of sun on your cheeks.

The dogs run back and forth across the yard.

Then dart through the open doors

And run down anyone in their way.

Here, everything lies still,

If only for a moment. 

It's comfortable, peaceful.

Another calm summer afternoon. 

Then I open my eyes.

Outside through the sliding glass door,

The highway roars.

Three stories up,

It's stifling, and never truly quiet.

And my mind,

Never lies still.