I am seasick,
And I am homesick.

I feel at home cooking,
Using my own restroom,
When I know streets, paths, regions, even trees.
I rarely feel it, but I sometimes do.

And it's good.

Feel at home is ambiguous,
Comfortable and redundant,
Brightless and efficient,
Lazy and unstoppable.
Feel at home is time and space independent,
Can be and not be, at the same moment,
Quantically.
It's, in all forms,
The wish to be somewhere
Never to be found,
And, yet, always revealed.

Impossible.