I am in the air,
Above mountainous clouds
Of candy floss and cotton balls,
Flying between beds
That are not mine,
Sheets bound to frames
And pillows too puffed
To be personal.
I am the single sleeper-
Positioned
On the right edge of center,
Using just one set
Of towels
Of the two provided,
Opening single slippers
And leaving that other robe
Hanging unused
And yet,
For all it’s
Impersonal touches,
I sleep in these foreign buildings,
In foreign cites,
In foreign lands
I can barely plot on the map,
Akin to sleeping at home
And tonight
I question
The geographical pull
And sentimental value
In the word
We call home
When you live
In this world
All alone.