Way Back Home

<foreign . Streetlights flicker on wet pavement.

Same old corner store still sells those lemon drops. I count the cracks along the

sidewalk. Each one a year I've walked this block. Train whistles from

a different tune. Then when I left with shoes untied, the map I

drew in pencil faded, but something in my chest still guides.

It's not a place I left behind. It's the breath between my steps

and time. Every door I thought was closed still holds the warmth I used

to know. Way back home it never let me go. Laundry flares on