Until there's a post office.

There is a Home

in my Home-less being

And happiness

in my Un-Happiness. 

The City of my unanswered hyphens

A spiral anxious lane of calm curiosity

Grateful for all the treasure worthy melancholy.

Until the next time

I travel 700 kilometers away and within,

I am storing your essence in my un-embrace.

Until they build Post Offices

for my metaphysical residence,

I shall keep you in my poems.

Until the next time, you see me,

I will see you every day.