They move, some more than others,
                            sisters and brothers,
more likely to be, sons and daughters,
life is a jigsaw puzzle and moving
shuffles the pieces, making choices,
do you hear your children's voices,
transient, as they echo...echo...echo,
tangled in the sounds of the streets,
caught up in the internet of deceit,
pardon them if they are all thumbs,
texting  to a social circle a thousand
strong, but there is no one to lend a hand,
sometimes it is better that way,
to be nomads, where your phone is,
is where you are at and where, you'll
be, you are free and you have space.

As long as every once in a while I can reach out and touch not a virtual pad of
keys
but your face.  You know who you are,
this by far is such a peace journey, if
this is what is sought,
not the bill of goods bought,
and sold to the highest bidder,
on mE-Bay, no that was not a typo,
don't get mad
          be a nomad,
if it fills
a heart's desire,
a passion, after a fashion
a mashup of music and jigsaw
sized pieces of a life, fitting
well together and in one box,
lay them out on the table and
build your life, after all you have to live it.
Be a nomad, be sure.