from the article:
Footprints
Like the wind stirring up what has been lost… I return to look for them to no avail: dismembered, they left with the echo of the world Misplaced, abandoned, bewitched to the beat of “New York, New York” Scattered leaves, pigeon droppings they let their owner loose to raindrops Meanwhile, the ocean drinks up my groove, my recollections, splashing the shifting of memory: “Blowing in the wind” Bob Dylan is singing.