my skin settles on every surface
- my old self
from past days
-with its memories
and songs
reverberating around the walls.

Heron, the old clinker built wooden boat
well past its sea days
now washed up in the garden
filled with soil and wild flowers.

crinkle in the sky
a thunderous ROAR

scary fascinating lightening
blinding the eye

rolling in off the sea
a tempest from afar

the spellbinding cradle
of natures awe.

I hear your wails;
I add my sorrow
To the howling winds.

the seeker and the sought after
gold will never tarnish

the desert is vast
from oasis to oasis

gold is too heavy a burden
are you sure you really seek it

to have travelled light
almost a constant mantra

naked you came into being
and you will leave, with nothing.

words on your plate
served with relish

sometimes your nourished
by what you write

i am a visitor.

a visitor here. a visitor to your story, a visitor to mine, a visitor to this world. a visitor of my past, a traveller to my dreamt future.

so,
i am a martian. a martian to everything. a martian to all.

hence,
i am perpetually foreign. i am consistently uncomfortably foreign.

when would i be home? i'd often wonder.

when would i stop being a collector? collecting new experiences. collecting novel items. collecting temporary resources. collecting coins. collecting grains.

when can i place a welcome mat on the floor?