I have many traces of memories
Yet also I find new places
This afternoon I sit on a white chair
Under the apple tree
Behind me, a little way away
There are the beehives
I can hear the bees
I can see a butterfly
I can touch the peeling bark
On the trunk of the tree
Today there are no cobwebs
No silences in the corners
There is dust, as always
Though this is the dust
Of a dry dry summer
There are marker posts
With warning tapes
Highlighting a space
Which I ought not to enter
I will not go there
For I no longer wish to trespass
Now I only want to go
I only want to go where I am wanted
I only want to go where I am loved
