I miss the ground under my feet belonging
to me. I remember it carrying me. I remember
not doubting that
I miss the air in my lungs being mine
to keep and to
let go of.
In and out.
I miss the sun-shinings smelting in the top
layers of my skin and staying there
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
I own nothing now. I am poorer than ever I
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.