Off The Top of My Head

I stood on the shore and listened to the water splash gently against the broken pieces of concrete that had been placed there by hands that were not my own.

I looked out across a vast landscape of liquid and clouds and thought of all the things that didn't belong to me.

Things that were borrowed or bought, second hand, in an attempt to find an era; a place in time that was not now.

I looked down, through the brackish water and saw pebbles brought down stream with the current.

Where the river meets the bay, that's where you can find me. Locked away in a lonesome floating cottage, child and pen in hand.

Humming a tune that has been stolen from another place in time, a house borrowed, second hand, from an era that is not mine.