I haven’t stepped into your spaces, years
have passed like days, the pleated seasons swung
their skirts of springs and autumns, and austere
winters chased off summers’ trailing songs flung
down randomly. None of us the same - young,
and rarely the flutter of heart that steers
blood into obscure nooks of veins. I’ve been among
such remoteness! lost words cupped in my ears.
Yet I come back and I come back and there’s
still no return, the pathways peter out
in green resin-scented forests, stone stairs
of temples raised to complexities of doubt
stranger spaces close ranks and rude sharp glare
of sunlight and its baffled pursed up mouth.