Where were you
when I was lonesome?

Deep in my own heart’s core,
I was swimming for the placid surface
awash with emotion,
a human sponge.

When I die,
I will dissipate into the ether,
a thousand particles of me
banging endlessly,
born from shore to shore
adrift in scores of company,
of other faithful departed.
Perhaps of you.

And if a particle or two finds its way
towards that Elm tree in that field,
with that tall tall grass,
at the end of that street,
may it rest forever.

I am born of endless motion

and if I look back this very moment,
I will falter.