I’ve walked it often
in the mind’s traces
yet cannot recall
the days of that space
I’ve seen
the sweet white cottage
honed in on
one sore standstill
and filled with
elegant wood spiders
and with all
the brush surrounding
I am sure
I was of an age
requiring doubled strides
I am sure
there was a
beach nearby
and a part about
repairing the door
the ****
a crack or two
I know this place
is real somewhere
I have seen it
in almost visions
glowing asymbolic
such a memory and
no basis
such a home without
a heart
no strife nor canned emotion
just the palest vision now
and blinding curiosity