The journeys between are when I feel most free
I watch the nonchalant clouds passing, skimming over blue skies or crowding over grey
I have no home
In those moments my home is everywhere and nowhere
Imagined lives spring up in my mind as I watch others pass by
Children stumbling along under watch
Rushed workers in shades of ink
Lone women and their overnight bags, visiting who?
Am I one of them, or other entirely
Separate
Staring at chiaroscuros of passing headlights…