analyticstracking
Poetry

Home-sick

Roving the darkness,
a shapeless form has followed me home.
I did not notice at first:
the unpacking of luggage, embrace of family,
the leap and luxury of the familiar
caught me up.

But as I stand, a silhouette in the doorway,
looking out at the dimming
of white sky
I feel the pull, a vague unsettlement,
the resistance to re-assimilation.
It is calling me from across the water,
falling through my thoughts, and I wonder
what I have forsaken
in returning here.

It is gone
as I close the door, drift my way back
to the warmth of candles and roast pork,
the easy clatter of silver and conversation.
I belong to this life.

But again, alone in my room
The haunt overtakes me.
Besides the singular purpose of living, I am missing
some truth; the burn and twitch
of psyche is exhausting.
After months of travel and the anticipated return
I find home no longer

my destination.