Sometimes for a moment I glance away
From the street before me on the drive home
Usually stuck beneath a light, gazing into the rain
Some days feel impossibly long
I keep singing last summer’s songs
If it weren’t for transactions I wouldn’t know the date
Between the mailbox and the bus stop I wait
Maybe I’m finally moving on
In the keyed up plastic I see myself
I can’t ask anyone for help
I know the way home I’ve been a thousand times
But it rarely feels like home once I arrive