In my little home, three people
feels crowded. If my friends come, it’s the kind of cramped
In my little home I have faucets that run
And run, and a washer that never stops churning.
That is, when I can find them.
Sometimes I can see through my roof and count the stars
At the beach, or in the mountains –
I’ve even seen them from my parents’ backyard.
No mortgage, just a one-time payment and it lasts
Unless it breaks down.
It might leak when it rains
But I won’t live in it forever
I still live with my parents, who taught me
home is where the heart is.
My heart belongs to nature.
Home is in my tent.