The wandering Poet,
  so wild—so free

With each mile walked,
  a new reverie

Eight Muses to guide him,
  his steps fall in line

Their prophecy calling,
  their message sublime

The wandering Poet,
  won’t stop till he’s done

All motion incessant,
  all verse zero-sum

His trail can be seen,
  by those willing to climb

Their destiny’s marked,
—their pasts left behind

(Villanova Pennsylvania: May, 2017)