Land of white and snowy pillows,
Drifting above the pristineness I gaze.
Pastel shades of orange and blue,
Framing the sky of my year-long daze.
Back to the cabin my eyes settle,
Neat rows of bobbing dark buoys,
Each atop its own life’s ocean,
Flickering beacons of ordered noise.
In numbered rows they dream and forget,
In classroom desks and assembly lines,
Suited offices and church pew benches,
To headstones beside loved one’s sighs.
The lights inside turn dark and out I gaze,
To the tiny neat rows of houses below.
I will be home soon after a year away,
No longer blaming Order’s gallows.