a restless dream of a place past
haunts our waking days,
leaving us sleepless
on the blackest nights;
we set off upon
another trek under skies of slate
along the tired roadways of today,
still searching for that shimmering oasis
on the edge of memory
where the cries of gulls echoed
across a placid bay,
the chugging of the lobster boat's engines
matched the beating of our hearts
and we never questioned why
we were soaking in the lazy rays
of summer suns
because we knew it was right and good,
as it healed us;
we never wondered at its point
or asked after its worth
it was life
and we were living
now we are searching
trying to escape
the demands of this broken reality,
desperate for a hint of a memory
of something perfect;
not realizing, if we stay the course, we are there.
