Rachael Mead #24, The state of being away

The state of being away

Each fresh day ignites

with a full breakfast

and not enough coffee.

Strange beds seem huge,

clean and empty of dogs.

The days unfold like maps,

every tree a stranger,

filled with nameless birds.

I can hear but not speak,

the rare tv holds familiar

faces with outlandish voices.

I’m adrift without ritual

or routine, my diary now

the rungs of an itinerary.

This is what happens.

This is why we step

beyond the known world,

to return with fresh eyes 

and fall in love again.