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.
