Doors held open,
smiles and hellos
more often than stares.
backpacks left solitary
among the dozens of legs.

Mountains so close, I could reach out
and brush the snow from the top
Up so high, I look down on clouds.
Palm trees and pine trees,
a little of home.
Air so crisp,
it scorches your lungs.
World so green,
feet rebel against concrete.
Little revolutions every day.
I stumble over concrete,
uneven and crumbled.
Wonder how many
have wandered through
these broken roads
and felt home
beneath their feet.
Wonder how many
have fallen in love
right
here.