• I still smell the cold coming off the river every time the wind blows,
    I feel the eyes of unseen watchers in the trees,
    I can still see the walls of every room I called my own,
    Though I was in none for very long.

    I always see every branch and every street,
    Every house and every clearing.
    I sense every pond and every metaphorical cesspool,
    Every scar that is a road.

    Home is just a word to one in constant motion,
    But home is where I stay, every image burned into my eye.
    My feet still find the path less used,
    Though it’s in a different town every time.

    My eyes fall upon beauty none have seen though they pass it by every day.
    Be it manmade or natural home is what I call it,
    Environment,
    Habitat,
    Home.

    Lost others may call me, but how can this be?
    With the world all around you can never lose your way.
    You simply find another room,
    A new place to explore.

    Soon the old is forgotten by most of your mind,
    But your feet still want to turn where there is no road,
    Your body ducks when there is nothing above you,
    Your legs take you miles out of your way because you see a road that others deny.

    If you are never lost then you never truly lose anything.
    And goodbye is temporary.

    There is a field where there was a mountain,
    A house where a river once roamed,
    But always there's one thing the same:

    No one sees.

    I feel the cut of the first fall whether there is a tree or not,
    The weight of the steam around my head and in my eyes is the same
    When winters’ mantle is laid down,
    Whether there is snow or rain.

    Each new place becomes a part of what I am
    Who I will be
    And there is another memory laid over my vision.
    There is another curtain through which I gaze.
    A gossamer image of time.

    I am everywhere when I am nowhere,
    It’s all inside of me.

    So in the end I follow the same old path to another new place
    And see how little I see.
    What is in my sight is what has always been.
    I walk into walls that are not there,
    Try to go through doors that never were.
    My nose tells me I’m in a forest though I sit in yet another classroom,
    My skin tells me I’m in a river but it’s just a chair.