like the swallows of Capistrano
we return to our roots eventually,
becoming a nuisance after realizing
it will never be the same as before;
memories of memories invade
faded by all the forgotten years
provide different interpretation
and what was... was not really
migration was time consuming
and randomly meaningless
when viewed through older eyes;
facts were not real facts
thoughts were not real thoughts
recollections were dimly lit
by the spotlight of friends who
were no longer there to greet,
believing in different causes,
taken away prematurely,
fortunes were made and lost
in rivers of neglect and loss;
time heals no wounds as
no wounds were found and
what we thought to expect was
swept under the rug of incorrectness
providing tokens for reimbursement
of a time better left forgotten.
3 August 2020
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