by Jesse Miksic
When every single star
Has wandered off the reservation,
It’s the absence, the drama
Of blank dark, that lists
Across the cornea, and
The house that’s next
Along the block is an estrangement
Of lit pockets, a free-floating
Sunroom, a door that leads
To a crowded nowhere, and
Why am I here, at an
Impatient remove from my
Sleeping home?
The motion-sensing light
Above the back door turns off
As I pass — I guess it knows me,
Rustling, unremarkable —
What day was it?
What place is this, touchstone
Of my returning?
What of this familiarity?
How long have I been gone?
Jesse Miksic is a graphic designer and writer living in the suburbs of Philadelphia. He spends his life writing poetry, prioritizing existence over essence, and having adventures with his awesome family. Recent placements include Deracine Journal, deathcap, Neuro Logical, and Cape Magazine.
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