A need for lightness on the stair,
the vaguest tension in the air.
Perhaps this is imagined dread,
The sky is blue.
The grass sharp green.
I am near what I have always been.
The people's friendly, easy smirks.
The rich and mellow, blackened earth.
Space to breathe in,
room to grow.
An expansive isolation knows:
This is a place that isn't home.