The traveler is home.
Season’s end finds him
safely sequestered in
friendly and familial arms.
The distances now bridged
allow him to give
that which he sought
and achieved at great cost.

The traveler is home,
unpacking his treasures,
unloading his wisdom,
given in writing
and spoken in person,
silver proses
not wrapped in bows,
but human woes,
truths in experiences
parlayed part of the way
and interlaced
with the fictions he traced
to spruce the narratives up.
In return he receives
handshakes, helloes
how are you doing,
and where have you been.

The traveler is home
but that is not enough.
Love cannot tether him here
and even in polite conversation
when he is facing
those he loves
his eyes search the distance
planning the perfect parting moment
while longing for adventures
and new stories untold.

Even when the traveler is home
his mind is already back on the road.
Before he washes his cloths
he is already ready to go,
so every single hello
is just an unfinished goodbye.

The traveler is only home on the road.