A different time, a different light, a different air, a different space.
We obsessively convince ourselves that it is better elsewhere.
Our dreams a map from east to west,
And yet,
Unenlightened by the yellow tit
perched on top of the rusty gate,
the same bird that visits religiously and sings the sweetest alarm.
Not a sound.
Our earphones plugged in and eyes cast down.
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