Home ...

Maybe it's the tele's looking south,
Or the door's opening in, and not out;
The new chandelier in the hall,
That could be it, that could be all.

Maybe it's the elevated niche,
Or the out-of-reach switches; sheesh!
It could be the painting, still in the box,
Or the bunch of keys, and unknown locks.

Maybe it's the view from the balcony,
Or the street's lack of cacophony;
It could be the sun's usurping my bed,
Windows could've been further right, instead.

Maybe the kitchen's oozing the change,
The sink swapping places with the range;
The shelves, too, are on the wrong side,
My elbows tell me - 'the hallway's not wide'.

Sure! it's all in the missing stasis,
In the brick, mortar and the stones;
My home is where my heart is,
The house is but the bones.