Tell me, centenarian bark,
if in another age my steps reached you
and if your stalks trembled
at the reflection of my eyes or the sound of my voice.
Tell me, with that age-old talk that makes you infinite
if I once sat down under your shadow
and you covered me
to keep me in that age.
Tell me if I'm in your memory
as you have always been
in the constant momentum that leads me to my home,
to that home which I once left undeservedly,
a home in a compulsive search
whose light flickers and where I know that I am,
about to arrive.
If you recognise me, move the freshness of your revitalised land
and prepare your roots to celebrate my return.
You are my truth.
In front of you,
the known path remains locked in the air of memory
and I've got you a present of lost steps
which have been deepened by the feet of my breath.
I leave behind a century of small havens
where others took my view.
Now that I have you in front of me,
my heart wonders if in you, like in me,
beats the memory.