no home

I live on an island
I work on that island

there is no home
(and that the hardest to admit -
that we're here naked, alone)


the island part of a continent
and that part of the world (obviously)


Fly, float, drift, from place to place,
land to land.

And where is the knife less sharp, sir?


Lee Harwood, from 'Notes of a Post Office Clerk' in Collected Poems (Exeter: Shearsman Books, 2004), p. 252.

=============================

The hardest to admit, indeed. That's why you've got to carry your home around with you, turtle-like. And as strong.