your home is not my home.
and it never was even when we shared
a bed or stood face to face
on a moonlit beach
beneath a thousand twinkling stars,
or the time we spent
at your grandmother’s trailer
by the lake skipping stones
until the loons cried and twilight
finally chased us inside.
i really tried
to feel the tremors
of your many moods
and surf them accordingly,
but the veil of your oceans
was too murky and thick
for my third eye to pierce.
and so it’s time for goodbyes
once again.
i hope you can forgive
my walking away
from all i couldn’t fix,
and forgive me for trying, too.
and should your future footsteps
ever find their way to my new front door
a hundred million light years away
from this place in a sea of wheat
and nestled beneath
a lavender sky and twin moons,
please know you’ll be welcome
to come in from the cold
should you happen
to find me at home.
