New cities are hard to feel at home in
every face a stranger,
every room cold
devoid of the comforting sense of familiarity.
that’s why I find myself perched in balconies
of hotels, studios or polished penthouses
hunched over railings,
scooping a mug of strange tea.
eyes glued towards the vast expanse
of a foggy night sky
traffic in the backdrop a distant hum,
while my eyes face the universe
When a plane snails its way under the moon
red lights twinkling at me, teasing.
I blink and sigh
The birds have left this city
I am now a plane watcher.