Home

In a room that holds

neither mine nor borrowed weight,

I rest—

a guest to its walls,

yet rooted by familiar laughter.

Outside,

the cloudy sky

travels with me,

rain tracing quiet paths

on each new window.

My heart drifts,

threaded between

the silent pulse of my studio

and these warm, momentary branches

of kinship.

Even away,

I stitch belonging

from distance and embrace,

while my body hums

with a gentle ache—

a reminder

that solitude and love

both leave their marks,

soft as rain.