I walked the streets of the Northern town that saw me open my eyes for the first time by
the waves
plagued by abandoned buildings.
The blue prison that could be a museum, I saw.
The same prison where a fellow writer I met was harbored many years ago
for taking part in a fight for freedom;
unpurposed structures–
what a waste.
To the highlands where I was raised, I returned to marvel
at the road that used to be paved by pink flowers in the
Spring,
but even
unattended trees
can be taken over by parasites.
