Where

Home is where the walls run
the memories of hanging your favorite art,
from city skies hanging their clouds, to paper homes decorated with stones,
where the bed remembers your eyes
full of laughs
and insomniac nights,
sand dunes tracking your body's shadow, tents smelling your mountain nights,
not where you slept and where fed,
but where you loved and felt
the life spring from couch to kitchen door,
from park bench to restaurant on the curb;
Home is where the walls run
the memories of your permeated past,
not minding the disguises of the future's plan.