There was a certain comfort I got
From cleaning out the bathroom.
They were coming in the morning
To redo the ceiling in the shower.
I took every single item out.
All that was left was a tin sound.
A hollow echo;
An empty stomach;
An aching beacon.
I never know if I have come far or just gone in circles.
I'm flying in the dark again
Off the coast of Newfoundland
And most of the time
I can marvel in the thrill of it all.
There was a time I craved the comfort of a carpet.
Its feigned warmth and welcome
Like a paid professional
Pretending to be your mother.