colors

tilt your head up to the crowded, heavy sky

watch it fall

it isn’t sad, but something a little more

tangible

lingering in the creases of hands that have let go

behind every torn and put together photograph that you

glance over on late nights

a fire’s exhale after dying, over and over

the acrid smell curling around the

tendrils of your hair

soft and harsh crammed into

one being

so busy yet

so empty

all at once

to you, it might be something like loneliness

but to me,

it can’t be anything but home.