The Hallucination of Room

I’ve breathed in your dust through my eyes

smelt the waves lapping at your shore

I’ve heard the silent towers rise

felt skin part as they stabbed the skies

reflection of cranes on glass doors.

Who knows who has the right to call

your mud their bone or blood or home

and what’s that except a set of walls?

one trumpet note and that set falls,

the hallucination of room.

The hallucinations of roofs

and rooms, this nothingness enclosed

and dust breathed in without much proof;

home always, but at a remove,

conflicts, and space juxtaposed.