Island winter — photo by Jordan Chalfont used with permission

Cast adrift.
Forever immigrants.
Homesick even when we’re there.
Every step, the first.
Looking back, longing to see the beginning,
we miss the start. The end,
catches us on the back foot, off guard.
But ready to reach in, hoping, this time,
to find the surprise,
“One in every box.”
“Another every minute.”

Wishing for what might have been,
contenders, we hurry to make
our casting calls,
lining up outside the door
with all the other action figures;
fresh from happy meals,
scanning lines, eyeing exits.

Star-forged, every atom
from the dust of the cosmos we arise.
particles, borne on currents, to emerge.
Once more, or after all, this time.
From across the universe, or just across town.
The horizon, that fine line, separating,
ocean and air, here from there, today and tomorrow.
And I, standing between, look out and wonder,
which way leads home?

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