There are measuring tools that refuse to check in
Science of proxemics, spatial intelligence, small expectations

Locating, relocating, all should have bearing
Otherwise the entire geodetics industry is a sham

Rooting, re rooting can jar the soul
But not the compass, however, the heart

It being the heart with all its heartness
Sometimes just won’t be badgered

As I’ve said, we have moved around countless times
Yet each time I make calculations of this ever-gaping space between us

I still use as point of reference our very first house
No matter where, or when, all roads lead me back—

‘Why is your watch five hours ahead?’, the boss asked one time
‘I have to know when mother would signal for the lights, good sir’

Again, there is a sadness that is as imposing
Immovable as the pain of welling distance

That’s when I recoil to when mother
Tucked me to sleep after a bedtime story


Image by Femi Amogunla from Before the Busy Goddess Arrived.