There are scribbles of addresses
interspersed with poetry
It’s all a part of a single epic —
the soul trying to find a place to be
and the body trying to find a place to land.
They support one another with
complimentary metaphor —
Trying to find a new place to live,
Trying to find a new way to live.
The way isn’t metaphorical or metaphysical.
It is rooted in the practicality of needing shelter.
I could draw lines like:
As I wrap up my fragile belongings
so, too, do I package my grief.
It’d be all too easy.
I wish it were as easy
as packing and unpacking boxes.
I’m looking for a home,
a good fit,
But I have no idea what sort of life
the apartment will contain.
What will it consist of?
What does the soul use to pay the
body back in rent?