It's 5am

It's 5am
and light has already

stretched across the plains of Kazakhstan.

I trip out a double bed I’ve shared with two

into a living room now furnished by a

chorus of rising snores

from a Kazakh, Uzbek and Russian circle

that’s brought me in.

Two are still awake

and we share a laugh about the night we’ve just

torn through.

Those that have crashed here,

who lie sleeping in this apartment,

are couch surfers, hitchhikers,

friends.

It’s like I’ve just stumbled through

my old sharehouse

—like we’ve all just made a night in Adelaide.

Sometimes,

the best thing about home

is feeling like you’re travelling

and the best thing about travelling

is being reminded

of home.