i have never left this place.
sitting on the front stoop
looking through
grass and scrub
out over escarpment
framed by ashen skies
soundtracked
by a roiling lake ontario.
i have never left this place.
feeling the roughened
cliff top grasses perched
imperiously over temperamental
waters.
i have never left this place.
entreating the sparse
indifferent cirrus wisps
passing over
flitting cliff swallows-
where do they go during dark seasons?
i have never left this place.
and i wonder when memories like this
fall away, where do they land?
i have never left this place.
still,
messages
from the person
i left behind
float to shore.
