Memoir

With spray by my heels and fire by my face,

I cannot think of a more homely place,

But until the sun sets on you,

I’ll cross the chutes, in search of some place new, which will never quite do.

When are horizons flat to see?

What of the ocean has abandoned me,

I’ve somehow learnt to long for some place new,

When the adjacent roof used to ‘just do’, those days; they flew.

I’ll cross the chutes, and dream a-new.