I watch your
receding shore
the train station
a dot on the pilot’s horizon
where some one
or two or twenty
wave me home
I dream
soft palms
swaying while
wolfish whistles blow
and wings
golden downy
sing me soft
and low
I wake
I take my first steps
on new sands
the gravel under my feet
and hazy lazy clouds
I long for home
but that was no country for me
I set myself
afloat
Today’s prompt: I would/would not move to another country after this?
Anita DeRouen 