My recollection's not so clear when I reach for scatter-brained skies
-But everything regrettable is not so easily forgettable-
Though my river ran reflection has sunk deeper into its guise,
And my storm-driven decisions ill-used and unwise.

My map's been through weather and wear that no paper really should,
-And I can't quite guarantee through fog I can't see-
I make stops and mental storage at all the places I can and ever could,
And frames of overdue back pedaling that I surely will and would.

I'm always leaving too soon and overstaying some days,
Always learning too few and overthinking some phrase,
Growing confused and unamused with everything I pursue,
It's no wonder willows wilt under the heat of my gaze.

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