I see you in the morning,
sleep-bagged eyes
ring tired resignation

Snailed backpack
containing all you hold
in frost-nipped dawn.

Your terrible freedom
appeals, appals
in simple ferocity.

Come rest in my cave
on the western cliff
until the globe revolves
to warmer evenings.

A man you are
king of the lousy road.

My heart yearns
for that earnest seeking