I remember with clarity
and such clear vision,
I was four years old,
and was being shown
the first time in this,
old house of bliss,
I chose my bed-room
by the street's road
window open
to birds and bees.
Spring's air smelling
Now its
my prison
as I'm scared
of the outside.
I wish to be me again
and not the grains
of loss of friends
and family,
the sand pours
without haste,
slamming doors
and this I created.
I haven't left the house
for a straight
18 months.