Place to place, always
Looking, city country farm
Or field, some small patch of
Ground to call “home” for a
Time, people pa**ing in and out
Faces of a dream, disappearing
The sigh and moan of found and lost
Taking and giving bits and pieces of
Themselves, each memory a
Locket, worn close to the breast
Belonging nowhere and everywhere
A new road always beckoning
The future always unknown, always
Re-creating itself.