I am returning again
\nto my home.
\nFor a day I will smell lily pads,
\nand the dank odor of algae.
\nI do not know what to say
\nto streets changing
\nlike an aging face.
\nWhere have you been?
\nWhere did you go?<\/p>\n
While I stare at stones
\nfilling a railroad right-of-way,
\nrunning along the play park
\nof childhood.
\nShould I gather a few?
\nFill my pockets?
\nPerhaps after so many years
\nall the stones I stepped on
\nare gone.
\nBut a few may remain.<\/p>\n
The world doesn\u2019t change itself
\nlike our bodies.
\nMy cells are new
\nand I end in a different way
\nthan the world,
\nits passing of seasons.
\nI will die.
\nA privilege unique to life.<\/p>\n
So if the town calls to me,
\nif mornings and nights
\ncrowd my senses for attention,
\npieces of the past
\ndropping through me
\nlike a gale of leaves,
\nI will tell Sandusky,
\nhere I am,
\nfor a few hours.
\nI remember my life,
\nsad and happy.
\nA place where time
\nputs fossils for me to find.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
I am returning again to my home. For a day I will smell lily pads, and the dank odor of algae. I do not know…<\/p>\n