in years to come,  when i’m

rocking on a porch swing


locked in a retirement home

the ink embedded in my arms

will tell my story, remind me

not all those who wander are lost

restore forgotten fragrances to mind

magnolia, rose and peony,

and the jasmine that still blooms up on the hill

where in your arms i listened to the foghorns bawl

then walked away and

left my heart nailed to the wall