drifting

Every time it is this way.
Right before we have to leave,
I feel a
weightlessness  .  .  .
a disconnection
like a hot air balloon that has
just
let
go
.
And the thoughts seep back in,
the ones about where,
if at all,
i belong.

If home is where my friends are,
and all of them leave,
one
by
one
Where does that leave me?

I rest my head gently on my folded hands,
watching patches of light and earth drift by
unsettled heart, but still i close my eyes…