Finding Home Back Poem by RIC BASTASA

the radio on the other side of this
room plays an old music
i face this usual monitor as my fingers
begin to press the letters chosen as
thoughts begin to hover like pigeons
in that public park where children are
left by their mothers to play on their
own sensing no danger somehow
about strangers

somehow one listens and then writes
with nothing planned in mind like a
stream of thoughts
some flowers that fall on the yards of
your youth that you gather gently to make
a garland for yourself
a chain of daisies
yes you must still remember white on
a string connecting until the end line is
closed

and you think that there is an end to
remembering
but like numbers that we gather
its infinity runs like the horizon until
the afternoon closes in
and then the world turns dark on you
and then you hear nothing and you
have nothing to do now but walk away
only to return to the first stairway to your
home.