by Zinta Aistars
Watercolor painting, "Buda ziema," by Viestarts Aistars
It won’t leave me: this place of kept secrets
and long ago keepsakes. It haunts.
My orbit circles this haven
like an old dog stepping out the parameters
of his nightly bed,
nose to the ground,
pawing the dirt.
Tread softly the sacrosanct;
there are few such blessings remaining
untrammeled and pure,
braving the unkindest words.
Plod the dark woods, scent the cool air,
vagabond on your own land.
Seeking home is a lifelong pursuit.