We are floaters
I have no childhood bedroom
I have no room for you to come into and reflect, if I were ever gone and you came to see my family
All we ever had was the house you grew up in
And sometimes the living room or staircase of the place I happened to be living in
You float because the house you grew up in is not a home
Your parents float, they could never help you
Not like mine could either, but differently
In your bedroom with the Jesus paintings, we loved and maybe were free
There was no shortage of affection given over in our parked cars at night, outside Starbucks
I cannot believe, Ennis and Jack are we
The City Bard 