Here, Wherever That Happens to Be

I swear I’m losing my mind.
These absent weeks driving away a year
Of tear tracks and sunken words, midnight dog walks,
The outline of your skin.

Twisting and tucking them away
Behind mountains and valleys and new cities,
In a strange land where the sun never sets.

But sometimes, you are beside me:
Riding crowded buses at rush hour in Riga,
Bouncing our voices off palace walls in the lull of a St. Petersburg morning,

Or here, on the banks of another plastic-smooth lake,
Letting droplets of water break from our hair to touch the water,
Eating waxy chocolate hearts from warm aluminum foil,
Watching the crumbs fall and flow with the gentle current,
Arching away towards the sea.

Towards home.