Marble veins of dirt and ash
Line the runoffs to the stream
A flash of tail caught
Among reeds and lilies
I dream a dream of belonging
Ave Maria in solitude
In a vaulted roman nave
Bounces and hangs on mossy stones
With pilgrims remembered
I pray a dream of home
In the shade of a plane tree
Shielded in a secret garden
Footsteps on cobblestones
Call a memory like home
Somewhere to root my soul
Hanging on a swift’s tail
Afloat on dry dill scent
Its dull ache wanting solace
My soul wanders and drifts
Craving its missing moorings.
There’s a bittersweet loneliness hanging in the air here, Emm, a longing for a solid footing on which to stand. Hugs!
Paul
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So evocative. Lonely, yet accompanied by old things, marble and cobblestones and roman naves, suggesting so many of us have felt this, have passed this way…
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Thank you. It is in those places rooted in space as well as time that I feel my own lack of roots most acutely.
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Interesting. I must say, as much as I love Europe, I often get the sensation when there that I don’t belong. In North America it usually feels like this place is too young, too lacking in culture, but somehow I feel like I belong…
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I never lived longer than 2 years and often much less in the same geography, sometimes continent, until I was 19. Perhaps the time for roots had expired before I had a chance to try?
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Ah yes, that makes sense. And chances are if you felt rooted, you would get restless and long for movement..
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Probably! 🙂
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Ouah!
On est perdu ici, je crois, l’ecrivain et le lecteur.
Toujours merveilleux!
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Merci UnElephant. Tu comprends bien le sentiment d’etre deracine.
Pas toujours facile a expliquer.
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Soft spot for wondering wanderers . La vie est toujours aileurs pour les poetes…
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Tu sais quoi? Je n’y avais pas pensé comme cela, mais tu as sans doute raison. Merci:-)
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J’aime bien quand je fais des fautes d’orthographe (un seul l a ailleurs!!!): c’est du visceral. Cette “vie parallèle” avec 2 ailes…
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