Footprints
Like the wind stirring up what has been lost…
I return to look for them to no avail:
dismembered, they left with the echo of the world
Misplaced, abandoned, bewitched
to the beat of “New York, New York”
Scattered leaves, pigeon droppings
they let their owner loose to raindrops
Meanwhile,
the ocean drinks up my groove,
my recollections,
splashing the shifting of memory:
“Blowing in the wind” Bob Dylan
is singing.