You cannot turn around ten years later with an answer,
cannot bring the flavors of nostalgia back to your lips
even with the sweetest of salt
For a time, I felt an affinity for the overlooked dull colors of dawn,
how they contrast and enliven the warmth and hope of the bright, bright morning.
Mostly, since, I cannot keep from combining and comparing tones.
I keep to the cool, shady parts of the day, afraid of becoming burned.
But tell me, humor me, you say,
What was the answer you had to share?
And have you found the sweet salt among the earth?
Does it please you constantly
or must you still hack and grind at its walls
to feed the part of you that insists on feeling young?
This, to you, may only seem a stale story
as I walk by the scent still seemingly fresh in the air,
I cannot turn around now, ten years later, and offer an answer,
the tears, you see, have already dissolved the sweet salt in me.