In sunflowers and rain,
in springs that come again,
in winters that have passed,
in parts of me that last
and ever-present pain,
I have tried to find a holding place.
In fleeting crooked smiles,
in those who know my trials,
whose own mine don’t outweigh,
who state that I should stay –
in undiscovered miles –
I have tried to find a holding place.
In gods who know and love
and higher means above –
in lack of them, and truth,
in strange, ongoing youth
and weary thoughts thereof,
I have tried to find a holding place.
The place gives way to skin
and barren land within –
beyond that, even less –
and thick with nothingness,
in place I have not been.
moldy.ca 