To B: When you go home

It is four in the morning.
Endless hours of flying,
Brought me from sunshine to sunshine.
Brain on autopilot.
Disconnected. Still.
The newness of the old.

Opened the door.
House woke up to the sound,
As if from a deep slumber,
Smiling. Still half-asleep,
Insisting I didn’t wake her.

I go from room to room,
Eagerly seeing everything.
Eyes hungry for the views,
Lungs thirsty for the airs,
A new twig in the backyard
(I could swear it wasn’t here before)

Re-collection, the gift of life.

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