I didnít want my kids to feel like relatives
And all these planes with moons and stars and aurora borealis
As I take shitty photographs from airplanes never capturing what I really see

My mother and father telling me of recipes and coming back like ghost pressure

My father in ghost airport shitters and first class doing his thing
My mother at home with us, me at home with us I can tie it all together sometimes, all this

When I come home I want the floors clean and the lights on, the kids in bed and my windows open so the world can see I am home, the can look in all the things I want to look into all the time

Perhaps my wife dances, or kisses me