Home Alone

There’s a comfort

in sitting alone

in your own living room

in your own house

with your own body

serving as your voice,

a beating drum,

awakened by the Earth.

It’s a comfort

that doesn’t quite compare

with that of other,

more external kinds

that require circumstances

to make them such,

without being on their own

Here, the silence surrounds you

in a heavy blanket,

pulling you back to the ground,

reminding you

that your heart beats slowly,

and your breath is even,

and your lungs are full,

the night is always steady,

and an open balcony

invites the dark, cool air

to guide sweet dreams,

your body may be outstretched

on the crisp sheets,

there is no other body

to monopolize it,

only you,

and the great horned cooing at night,

sometimes, you might even

hear the coyotes telling you,

they prefer being alone, too,

with the voices of the night

lulling your body

back in your bones

until light streams in

the red tails call out,

sheer screeching in the morning,

as you begin a new day

with yourself once more,

leaving yesterday, and

greeting today,

ensuring tomorrow never knows

what you are wanting it to be,

keeping your mind at peace,

you are set free.