Over the bridge I thought I burned;
Has this trip home been decades late?
Yet I remember every turn,
And every smell, and every taste.
Memories scattered by the road
As wild poppies on the highway,
Past each new bend an old bloom grows;
And not one has died away.
Following the flow of paint and tar;
Headway through the pain and loss.
Sorrow never stretched so far,
Nor was a greater ocean crossed.
I pursue my childish apparition
And the smell of salt in the air-
Have I forgotten my root system?
I am from somewhere.
I reach the end of land,
The end of me, the end of running
Chanting waves on cluttered sand
Sing the forgotten into forthcoming.
All these years of mourning
A land that never died.
A sudden break in storming;
Nothing is lost. We are alive.
Staring into the waves and wind,
Until the sea stares into me.
I remember who I’ve been,
And who I may still be.