You utter grievances of restrictions
from holding a friend’s child. You keep him
at a safe—safe—distance, laughing
as he chases you.
Home is a bunker detached from reality.

You suffer under a warm, gentle glow;
my sunlight is filtered through glass,
splintered into fragments on my skin.

Your loneliness echoes in open fields,
reverberating from people two metres apart;
mine rings within these walls, clanging
louder, and louder,
and louder,
tightening around me
with each breath of fresh air you take,
your body expanding to occupy the space.

You leave me to watch from the windows
in what you deem
Play-life;
a step removed
from your open fields.