it's midnight
or close to it

the smell of freshly
blown out birthday
candles fills the
air;

i'm on foot, and
walking towards
the horizon;

there's a rhythm
somewhere, i can feel
tapping along,
like the tiny
feet of a dancer

i peer into
the houses
i pass by

they remind
me of ovens,
televisions burning
the precious logs of
our attention spans

some houses
are dark as the
space i breathe in;

doors unlocked,
windows open,
beds made,
rooms occupied,

the rest of their souls
stowed away in
basements and attics

i'm almost home,

there is no porch light
to welcome me, no open
arms to embrace what little
there is left of my wartorn
body

but i'm far from giving
up on planting roots;

this earth is a battleground,

nature is doing what it does best;

beating like a drum,
marching on like a fleet
of soldiers

towards it's only true destination

tonight i've come to learn,

there is no heaven

or hell

for what only comes natural.