Motes of dust,
Lazy, unemployed,
Catch the sunlight on their way
From somewhere
To somewhere else.
I am alone.
Not existentially alone.
Physically,
Soulfully alone.
Joyful in the quiet restfulness.
I lay now in an empty bed,
Full up on television gluttony and cheezits,
And savor the quiet.
And in my reveling,
secretly I miss you.
Home is where you are.
So I will tend this place
And busy myself with lefts and rights
Until you return to me.