It was a foreign country and he was lost.
The grass was too green, the slopes too extreme.
His car could not be found and somewhere he had left his soul,
somewhere hard to remember.
He had a map but couldn't read it.

Where had he put his soul?

He was lost and no one was looking.
The horror was familiar but the woman was not.
She had asked him to stay then was glad when he said,
"Maybe I'd better go."

Women always love the weak man, rush to his rescue.
They love the superficial and easy to understand.

The country was foreign.
The people there unfriendly save for the children
who recognized him but they were unreliable.

A little quiet time.
A lot of nowhere time.
And maybe it would all come back to him.

Where had he put his soul?

Maybe he left it on her breasts?