I know where my heart is.
It's the rest of me I'm worried about.
I misplaced my eyes somewhere.
Maybe at a panoramic overlook
The mountains took them.
I left my humming-song at a harbour
Along with the docking fee.
My feet still skip through the streets
Of my native land,
And I lost my tongue to the waves.
These days, all I taste is salt.
I'd write poems but my hands
No longer know the touch of a quill,
Only jagged bark.
My back is a bridge across a river
Whose name I can't recall.
My memories are dust and wind.
My dreams are castles made of sand
In a remote desert.
Once I gather me up
From the ocean currents and the trees,
The breezes and the tributaries,
The foreign ports and nearby peaks,
The lichens of the northern steppes,
I'll be whole again.
Only then, I'll return to Cyrene to find
My heart has given up on me
And gone wandering.

Penned by my hand on the 2nd of Aeguary, in the year 651 AF.