Untitled poem

Found this going through some old notes, sadly, I did not think to date it when I wrote it. I’m pretty sure it comes from before I moved out of Coburg, though, which would put it around 7 or 8 years ago.


There are places I go back to again and again
Seeking the things that feel lost
That perhaps were never found
But seem closer here than anywhere else

I am a pilgrim, a time traveler, a spelunker of the heart
In my efforts to recapture, I explore so widely that memory’s territory is expanded beyond its making
I walk these paths so many times that the memory of walking obscures the memories I would excavate

Sometimes, I come up empty of revelation
But times when I do, it is nothing words can capture
It is a sensation and a gnosis, a warmth in my blood, a febrile ease
A relaxation in my heart and lungs, breathing meaning
A sense of rightness and of truth, of finding home’s front door in the fog

And always, the knowledge that this is not enough
That I will return again
That there is more. That there is always more.

Always another epiphany that I’ll struggle to describe

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