Ownership: A memory

I miss the ground under my feet belonging
to me.  I remember it carrying me.  I remember
​not doubting that
it would.

I miss the air in my lungs being mine
to keep and to
let go of.  
In and out.
Mine.

I miss the sun-shinings smelting in the top
layers of my skin and staying there
because they
belonged.

The sun was a part of my skin then.  I was part of the
light, part of the earth, part of the air.

Nothing left me that wasn't mine first.
​
It came to me because I owned it.  The
freedom.  The keys to the
Kingdom.

I own nothing now.  I am poorer than ever I
thought possible.

Only what is already in me is mine.

The earth gives me nothing.
The sun doesn't come.
The air is foreign.

I am very far from home.

from 'Once' in Homeland