A stranger in my own house I sit at the corner of the table that was sitting at the corner of our dining room when I first moved in. Back then the props of another friend's play did not strew the surface as they do today. I've put my key in this door it usually fits, and then turns It allows me to adjust, this building is breathing again better than it was before, and the flowers looming over the glow of a computer screen are a gift from a friend. The hearts we water like flowers make home what it is, and like the opening my door I turn with the rising and setting of the light
