Nomad Writer

For how long
Will I keep looking back?
Neck straining
Chin stabbing stubbornly
Into the dip of my clavicle
To keep that elusive ingress;
A lambent cocoon
That once held my body
In sight

My mind had found its idyll
Beneath lavender skies and pastel clouds
Where the sun had talked with me
Through jasmine mists
Flowers pressing bashful kisses
Against my ankles
While I picked words like persimmons
In abundance from the gardens
Hedging the brook
That rushed in pellucid streams;
An era of mellifluous equilibrium

I know there is no point
In being so stiff-necked
When I still pocket the seeds
From which a similar halcyon
Could germinate
Yet all around me
Is this dried earth
Infertile paths
That can offer nothing more
Than a mossy grove
To nurture my thoughts