The juicy meat above

withholds the fibres of memories.

of being held above the window

beneath the pink sky

above the thatched huts,

like the floating fleece.

Hard grounds, a broken nose,

And scared knees marked my growth.

Pheripherally loved,

Periodically loathed,

Befriended during junkets,

Appointed in haste

Left as an afterthought

The above i foresee.

Accustomed i am to my ways

Though these change.

i mark these fibres

with a cut for every measured time 

and  wander along, carrying them.

Laying them near the shore

Only to be washed away

And gather them again.