Everything here is about limited space,
filling in the gaps of white, green,
those long shadowed rooms that
appear between houses, under eaves.
There is no great open plain,
no things that sleep and exist
on their own terms, on this
so-called hallowed ground.
How odd it must feel to live
in a world of no abandonment.
I cannot help but think
of the proud expanse of home,
which is nothing like the wild west,
but just as defiant.
The night looms with a lavender light,
the color of stars, smog, and a distant city.
The ground rumbles under the weight of it all,
hums with the sound of what I left behind,
the sound of where I’m going.