We can stumble in mists of doubt,
Like rowing boats on the deep blue sea.
But we always know that there are islands somewhere,
Where pinks grow and seabirds guard their nests.
How can we then really ever be lost?
I set out to re-conquer the remote islets
of my childhood
With no other guide than homesick tears.
It was like poaching happy memories
From a seagull’s empty nest
With wings obediently
Following the soft pull of the salty sea.