Asking, "where's my mind?" wears my mind, you see?
fallacy's alive and I permit it.
Idly rightfully, stand I, abiding
Its suppressive whim I cannot forfeit.

Shall I ponder what scurries so discreet?
Maybe rather it exists to roam Rome.
If I squander, it wonders Italy.
And I, in Portland, await it, alone.

Upon this reluctant reuniting
its lost sense of home, anxious though welcomed.
My mind lost itself, separated me.
I am without it again, so I sit.

I snicker, shamed and amused by my claim:
"My mind?" it lacks the restraint necessary to belong in such a way.