We sat in a silence that comforted.
The sounds of paper touched,
My fingers dance,
across the only means at my disposal.
Beats float to my ears,
while wine floats to our heads.
There’s a happiness here
that’s absent from “home”.
Our kids sleep, as peace floats in.
Try as we may.
What we return to,
sometimes isn’t enough.
Sometimes home, even in its brevity…
is someplace different entirely.
And even as I stare at you…
day’s sun waning
I know that the distance was worth it.
That this quietude
as foreign as it is…
For now… is home.