by Korey Jones
Hard enough, I’ve found it is
Choosing just one scene to live.
For oceans rise and cornfields run,
But look the same when all is done
And lives are rooted, sand or snow,
Which dots on maps have never shown;
So many boxes here and there
Still home to ghosts that time did spare.
If boldly spoken I could last,
But oh these faces come and pass!
Now so I’ve roamed, and right to claim,
These different places feel the same.