i reside in
what i don’t own
what isn’t home
what isn’t mine anymore. 

i reach for hands
i once found shelter in,
i slip on my feet and
scrape the bottom of this
circulating stream.

i once sought structure
in the scattered.

i’m carried off
to go somewhere
i do not know
that isn’t mine
that isn’t home.

planktonic // a.s.m 

Fenton

i walked to the river today–

the one we hiked to 
on
our first date.

I sat in the flowers,
the same ones I sat in when

you looked at me like

I was something

you’d never seen before

and asked me what music I liked.

I walked to the river today–the one
you and I got lost

trying to find.

I hiked the trail to 
the rock where
you told me I was beautiful

for the first time.

Do you still hear my laugh

in the ripples of the river?
Do you still listen for me

when the trees sing like the rain?

Because despite all the time that’s passed,
I still see your eyes in the summer grass

between my fingers, 
and these
waters will always 
whisper your name.