Years go by.

Look, that’s us

Right where we left us

The last time.

People enter and then leave.

There are no vacancies here

No empty seats in the waiting room

Either.

We remain,

Changedly, unchanging so.

So like writing on sand, no?

 

Tide ebbs and flows.

We come, we go, but stay

To leave some thing behind each time

To return to. And we do.

We are never truly lost

(to each other, that is, but often to our own selves).

Not ever, not truly, and yes

That is of some consolation to me.