I’ve been thinking lately about writing a book of poetry about living in Quebec City. This would be the first poem:
What do you keep chasing? What do you hope to find?
You let your heart keep leading. Your heart keeps leading blind.
There are no roots or anchors holding you in place.
Some may call this freedom. Some call this hard to stay.
Some try to keep their distance. Some try to keep you here.
They don’t want to lose you. They don’t know what to say.
It sure doesn’t feel like freedom to fly or float away.