I’m surrounded by endings here.
And I came back,
to where what can grow
I don’t know.
The ties, bindings, wrappings and scenarios
done, hardened and strange.
Perhaps the ghosts need herding,
finally clearing the pasture for
what belongs beneath this patch of sky
of salt, and pine, cypress and stone.
Too much concrete dulls the senses-
Sun aches to touch earth,
it may be my time to help her do so.