The Joy of Being Lost

I want to live where the streets are narrow,
the shops are small, and cafes pepper the landscape
Serving coffee strong as stone
to strangers and locals with equal amounts of indifference.

I want to live where people gather in dark
little trattorias and no one speaks English
and I have to stumble a bit, and take a chance
each time I order.

I want to feel lost now and again,
But unworried, for the streets are small
and every one of them lead to open squares
and a market full of fresh seafood and fruit.

I want to live where no one knows me,
and for a while, I can disappear and where everything
is new, where, safe or not, I believe I am,
and can sip my coffee at any hour,

A journal and camera in my hand,
reclaiming my sense of wonder
as I look at the woman I love,
rediscovering the newness

of everything.

About this poem

I live in a perpetual place of wanderlust. I have never figured out if that is good or bad. It has been part of me so long it just is.

The picture was taken in Venice, Italy.

Tom