Around the World and Back
Daylight shines through my bones.
There is little of me left, remnants,
a romantic almost me, a marker.
Little more, waiting for the last storm
to render me flotsam.
And yet, I still stand.
There is enough to restore, rebuild, recreate,
not all at once, but in staggering stages,
just enough to weather today’s storm
and perhaps the next,
to become incremental
so strong, so slow that no one notices,
just as they never noticed the weathering.
And to them, all remains the same
while you have traveled around the world and back.
About this poem
Not long ago someone told me “You haven’t changed a bit.”
Oh yes I have.