Where did I come from?
A country of what?
Big hearts?

That's what the guestbook said,
And the amnesia makes anything else suspect.
Still...

A chipped Greek frieze;
Shade inching over insalata Caprese;
Piazza Cavour from a smudged helicopter window at noon;
Faces in a crowd at LOVE park, rapid fire;
Dusk in an Irish cemetery;
Lakeside heather.

This departure is like rewriting
A book from memory.
How much of me—if any—is there?