returning: a poem

As if waking from a coma

My heart races,

Blurred vision turning clear.

I am alive.

I breathe. Deeper.

I’ve been here before. Yes. Long ago.

This is my place. I own it.

I feel the breeze, smell the crisp air.

I breathe deeper yet. This.

This is right. This is home.

Images and words scurry

All around, like abandoned children

Stopping when my presence is known.

Then, speeding toward me, passing through me.

There are just too many.

They are simply too strong.

Without thought, I guide them to paper.

I write.