I have no idea where the days

are slipping, when it is night; 

the diurnal circuit fulfilling itself

and time is just a tide. 

My time is watching little faces

as they speak and move

the human circuit grinding along 

where words have no refuge.

Am I home, I ask myself

is this, then, where I want to be?

Your voice replies: “home is never a place,

simply a state of being.”

I am home in a hospital bed

I am home when you’re with me

I have been freed from spaces

I have come home to be with me.

Where then, do I hang my heart,

the one I gave to you to keep?

And when the rictus circuit closes

where then, shall I sleep?