This is my home,
settled in the saying—
a common abode
and comfortable:
A foreign sensation,
for years unknown.

Passersby,
Do you notice?
Do my windows leak light?
Do silhouettes dance
their way to your eyes
in the glow?

I think it, but
I think it, unlikely.
I imagine you pass,
and I go unnoticed
as you make your own way
along your own road.