Sometimes, you have to go home
To pick up the pieces of your life
Those strands strewn across
A memory landscape
That never seemed so sweet
As they do now
Sand blasted by into sleek visions
You could never see growing up
Each piece, driftwood of life
Washed up on this beach
In the middle of nowhere
For you to find and treasure
And bring back with you
To those places
To which you have drifted
A memory carried
Outside and in
Tangible and intangible
A feeling you could find
No place else on earth
And won’t ever
Find again.
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