Not belonging

Here, there
Or anywhere;
An exile in my own land
Squatter in my own skin.

Looked for myself
In all the right and usual places;
No recognition
No settling of the stirred-up water
Only walls to bounce off.

So I wander.
The road and hills
Forests, fields, sky
Draw me
Wrap me in themselves.

Unlabelled, unidentified.
Free of numbers, name or country.
At home when I am nowhere
Defined by what I’m not.


Remembering Peter Fonda, 1940-2019

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