When did we stop
stepping onto thin air
falling into raindrops?

When did we cease noticing
swaying windflowers
singing under the gentle sun?

Manufactured dreams
stamped as original
ship off to islands of regret.

Elongated years eclipsing
our yearnings.

Ragged gardens
rise as beacons
flashing, flashing

COME HOME
COME HOME

Leigh-Anne Burley is published in fiction, non-fiction, and poetry.