Password

Home is other people.

But refuge lies

in

silence.

You know how this ends.

Home is other people.

The road is cold

but quiet, unasking.

You know how this ends.

Home is other people.

You live like

you're alone, so you will be—

a casualty

of your own self-

shrunk assumptions.

You know how this ends.

Home is other people.

It's the dirt

stuck fast to the quick

pink insides

of your cheeks,

the grit in your teeth.

You know how this ends.

Home is other people.

The road is unasking, quiet,

cold.

You know how this ends.

Home is other people.

The door cracks open.

The question's expected,

the answer's awaited—

[                                   ]

But refuge lies

in

silence.