Dave Bonta's poem is a short, broken-off sentence that never quite arrives anywhere, and that feels like the point. The title, "Deracinated," means uprooted, torn from the soil. The images that follow fit it closely: a "paper office" set in a "cleared wood." Paper comes from trees, so the speaker seems to be working in the very space made by cutting them down.
The phrase "that only mind will ever own" suggests the place is imaginary, or at least that it exists only in thought. The speaker uses "our," which suggests a shared condition rather than one person's loneliness. Judging by the wording, this may be a sense of displacement that many people feel.
The poem ends on "letters home to," with no name or place after it. That missing destination leaves the sentence hanging, and the mood is wistful and unresolved. Writing becomes a way of reaching toward a home that may no longer be reachable.