I remember running:
Running blindly through a field of flowers,
Small and delicate, like tiny golden tears,
Too high for me to see, unless
I stood on the small brown fence
Rough under your fingertips,
Messy and crumbling with age,
Like the oldest tombstone in
A graveyard.

I remember driving:
Driving through the small tight streets
With the brown stone walls;
Superior, always on guard.
Breathing on the cold window pane
Just to keep it clear
Watching the yellow streetlights flash by
Distant and sparkling like the stars on a
Clear night.

I remember the ocean:
Cold and grey, reassuringly brushing the
Cliff edges but crashing down on the
Plain sandstone beaches,
The foam leaping up and separating
Like the clouds gathering before the first
Summer storm.

I remember the mornings:
Waiting, impatient, just
Like the ocean, right before
A hurricane.

I remember the moon
In the middle of summer
Sitting on its velvet throne,
Hiding behind the clouds.
Standing by the water, watching
The reflection glistening
And the shadows dance and come
To life.


And I remember sitting
On the thatched barn rooftop,
Waiting for myself to start to miss home.
But all I could remember was the
Confusion of summer,
The blinding ocean, the business of
The old, worn out city
And the nagging feeling that it
Was wrong.