How does one know where they are?
If I were dropped on Earth
without signs or cities,
how could I tell my whereabouts?
The dust would not tell me,
it’s too busy sleeping.
The trees would offer shade,
a hostel, but no travelogue,
no signs to anywhere,
60 miles to oblivion,
you are leaving lost horizon, population one,
and so on.
And is it not so of my life?
Where am I?
In childhood?
Am I overgrown with weeds?
Have I fulfilled my destiny? My parole?
Did I choose more right than wrong?
Who should have been my friends?
Why do I work here rather than there?
Where am I?
Except my heart holds a great sadness.
It holds wonderful joys.
I am afraid,
but have nothing to fear.
Where am I?
Who will come and guide me away?
Tell me what house I should live in,
what cellar to bury my treasure,
where the bodies are buried,
where I put my lost soul.
But I am not in a cellar,
I do not have Eden’s garden,
I do not know where hell is.
I do not know how to plead at judgment,
because I do not know where heaven is.
I have never gotten the address.
No one could tell me where I was
or who I am,
except I was given a number
and told to apply for benefits.
What are they…hope, love, knowledge, faith?
If you can’t tell me, I’ll sit by the ocean,
where all lost things gather,
and a certain happiness prevails.
It’s the salt air, the black stones,
the sand where my feet leave impressions,
telling me where I am if not who.