وما كنت أهوى الدار إلا لأهلها"
"على الدار بعد الظاعنين سلام
—أسامة بن منقذ

A child asks for a bedtime song.
His mother starts, "you are my sunshine"
and the toddler bursts into wails.

Sometimes the grass is greener
in the bleak nights of winter
and you just wish for a few hours
to be lost and alone in the woods
or maybe in the neon downtown
where everyone is laughing but you
and maybe the homeless man
in the wheelchair.

But then you want home.
Fluorescent streets are no places
to be without another to hold
your hand and hear your woes.

How sad it is that friends
don't hold hands in this city.
I miss the slow strolls
after fajr from the 35th gate
of...