sitting on my bed
one candle burns
coruscating traffic
the city hurls itself home
at 7:20 every evening
dark fabrics piled up on my desk
waiting to be sewn in the morning
cars transition to
people walking briskly
at 6pm against the light of evening
the city is grey
socially
and culturally bound
we are incessantly observed
under a dusty veil
but this one is blue
deep cobalt
the stark nip
of loneliness
quivering under the lamp
lit apartments; static
home comes with familiarity
but suffocating constancy
as we scream
that we are growing older
movement is symbolic of new york
one person never to be seen again
and another just for a semester
strangers once more
with change of season
but the season here is summer
and the heat rises
with the overwhelming expectancy
of strangers that
are bound to us with the tightest thread
the clothes will be sewn
in a frantic mess
once again
i have immersed myself
fervently enough to forget home
home is where the heart is
the heart that feels with
binding devotion
rooting us so fiercely
to grow in the same soil
that the ones before us grew in
