I want to go home, just as soon as I
find out where that is. They tell me that it
is not here; to take more care of my things.
For now I build a house from neat stacks of
books, and cups of mint tea. The wise man built
on rock, I built on sand I found in an
hourglass. Soon I won’t be able to bury
my head; soon they will tell me to go. I
will shake the last of the sand from my feet,
and as I leave, ask if they know the way.
They will laugh, and ask me where I came from.