---

alone are the ones of myself who fly again

by memory I envy you all

I cannot go to places

where I was happy

or places where I could be

there is no direction

the streets are empty - of dust and sea

and a boat is never near or far - or close to me

and I am magically not the sea

not the wind but nothing that can be

I envy you all

I envy all of you who come back to me

memory of a rock, sand or tree