a change of pace

something old
the song of the morning
the bitter taste on my tongue
the bag where I carry my life
habits die hard, even in exile
my soul full of resistance

something new
a smell unknown
a new feeling in the grass
an unfamiliar path
unfamiliar people and odd halls
odd echoes in the walls

something borrowed
my mother’s necklace
my father’s pen
my brothers’ jokes
keeping me company
as I cease to exist, for a while

something blue
the sky above, here and there
the rivers, like veins
the sea, at the heart of it all
my mind, now and again
until I return to the lakes