home, now

home, now,
in this city of pumpjacks and train tracks,
some relic of the old west, filled with korean neon signs
and screaming children
and fast cars with headlights too bright

when i hear the wind gusting through the windows
and the boxcars rolling and rattling in the distance
i feel that familiar pull outside
to be out in that cool, dark air
to feel that infinite freedom of fields and small towns and highways lit up like runways

backyards hung with a pale scent of smoke
hills high with grasses looking off into the black, glistening ocean

it all makes me lonely
like looking into houses as you drive past, seeing some room lit by a lamp,
where someone else feels tired and safe
and you are reminded, more clearly, that this is not yours
you are alone

but loneliness is a feeling i confuse with freedom
and i find comfort in that solitary strength,
that separation of one person from the next,
a unique peace in private thoughts
and moments of being completely withdrawn

it gives me a chance to notice the strange beauty
of things generally ignored,
things lonely in their own right
like the heat of ashes on the ground
and the smooth, straight shine of railroad tracks at night

and here i am in another city
home, now
for a while