Woke on a plane in some unwanted air
between two worlds, with that sudden fear
that bags or keys you’ve clutched for aren’t there,
except the thing I couldn’t find was home.
Woke between the stanzas of a poem,
a breath made infinite, and couldn’t hear
the voice of anyone I’d ever met:
all foreign, and the foreignness was me,
the sand expunged from in the oyster’s shell,
into the endless ringing of no bell.
Woke, like the night I woke in some remote
Midwestern town, and heard a train crisscross
the void, and home was everywhere, and lost.