My Endless Search

Are we the things we leave behind?
The faded jeans and coffee mugs,
and dark, silent phones.
Are we our data?
I don't think so.
All this rational thought
is going nowhere,
and that's a place I can explore.
Nowhere is the coiling and uncoiling of stars,
expanding and contracting,
like my grief.
Nowhere is the deck of a sinking ship
sliding below the surface of the water.
Nowhere is the space where souls drift.
Is that where you are;
Halfway to me and halfway gone?
I'm looking for a place that is no place
because you're not here,
but nowhere's wrong too.
Maybe you're everywhere?