He presses his feet more into the sand,
positioning them to run now.
He lifts them up and floats
into the evanescent light-
a light that tells him to run for it—
full speed ahead that is
and return to the house that once held him gently
in his arms during endless nights.

In this shabby house, he
once stumbled over a moment of peace, and
discovered that he was living the only way he could, &
there was a rare innocence in that.

The only way he could live was by
running off, disappearing from the upcoming storms &
sheltering himself quietly just out of reach.

He would wait & wait, until
small suns would roughly fight against a rainy old mast.
He has waited
so long that he has experienced four seasons’ worth of sunrises and sunsets.

He waits until the knocking on his door
is oblivious to his ears & until
the echoes from it subside so that
he could stumble over another moment of peace like
the one he had had long before.

Simply the knowledge that he
was safe inside of the house made
him breathe easier because his past was catching up
with him closer and closer with every passing day.


He has lived here for seven years, and
each day he is reminded of the time he had bought the house.

He had bought the house on impulse; yet,
it was also a home of homelessness.
It’s a place where one day
he is an introverted artist living quietly just outside of Antwerp.
The next,
all he is, is a trapped man who comes to take the name of Boo Radley,
but that’s not his name.

It’s a place where he sees waves rising & falling back down
in a white tip through his window. He loves
seeing them crash at the rim of the earth
from the comfort of his house— a house that allows
him to roam fiercely and freely, and without fear.

Without fear— not because there is nothing to lose, but
everything can always be lost.