Echo

You called it a dream, but I called it home

This state of being removed, set apart

It’s an art form, the subtle ways,

The lingering gaze, eyes misty and gray

Searching through a car window

For a figure lost in the night

It all echos back eventually

The time on the clock sets the pace

Yet in dreaming everything flashes by

Faster than a heart skips a beat

Home is the ever elusive dream

We chase one another in circles

Going everywhere and nowhere

Around the globe and back again

I taste the flavorful, foreign tongues

Yet everything feels familiar

Even the dead languages echo back

No matter how far I go

The dream of home travels with me

— B.