Lionhearted
I was happy, once, in England,
for upon my arrival there I sensed
a vague connection, the pull of life,
seeping through the ground - through history,
to touch my soul.
I stood above the Thames, aorta of London,
adrift across the centuries to find myself.
We lived Chaucer in Canterbury
- me, Pam and a dunk rock dog named Chaos,
pilgrims all, pilgrims three escaping
from the walls of our own existance.
I watched the countryside from the train
- London to York to Cambridge,
and cried, drunk, on the River Cam
on New Year's Eve
in my sprakling purple Doc Marten's
- tears of contentment, of sorrow,
tears of not wanting to leave,
to return to the world of me.
And as I boarded the plane
I turned, and memorized,
and left a piece of myself
- a beacon awaiting my return.
sashay.