There stands the traveler's long lost grave,
a lonesome mark on an endless wake,
towering idly in the sands of time,
as the masses of the ages pass on by...

Did he leave his home as a soft young man,
with a ring of promise upon his hand?
Did his family mourn when he left their hold,
or was he forced on by a hand so cold?

Was it riches, glory, fame or peace,
or just a lust to wander land and sea;
did he seek a prize beyond all the world,
was his hope realized in sails unfurled?

As the winds may moan, and the rain may pound,
the trees may break and shatter on the ground.
Firmer than steel, strong as the rock,
the traveler steadily trods...


Did he find his rest in a garden's grove?
Or was his grave in a wake-torn cove?
Perhaps he treads the land this day,
Perhaps he's settled to a life so gay.

Whence did he come, where did he go?
What was his name, will we ever know?
Firm as the tide, lost in time,
the legend of the traveller will always stride.

Break his bones, break his back,
Reel in the sails 'till the wind may slack.
Steady as she runs, keep from the shore,
East and west, south and north.

as the winds may moan, and the rain may pound,
the trees may break and shatter on the ground.
Firmer than steel, strong as the rock,
the traveler steadily trods...

till the cliffs rise high, the tide runs low,
down to the depths the lad will go.
Caught by fate between his eyes,
Lost forever in the tide of time.

Take my hand,
so we can jump
on board of the nearest ship.
Let’s sail into the horizon,
to where the sun vanishes
every night;
Let’s sail beyond,
into the unknown -
to where the stars
kiss the infinite seas.
Let’s get away,
and find a new place
to stay.

--and the grand canyon is
getting smaller behind you
while your heart is getting
bigger, ready to burst,
craving a return to the journey:
when red dust reflected on
your sunglasses instead of
your side mirrors, the rearview,
when the car mileage hadn't hit
halfway. something
about the southwest settles
under your skin like an itch.
it's almost like-- it feels like--
you're finally finding out that
this must be what it is to be
homesick.

A call, that star-pull
From strange, deep, brilliant unknowns
Infinity stirs

A furious 'thud-thud, thud-thud' hammers my bones
as I whip shirt sleeves and scarves across my room
and into the small latch-lock box.
The one with the brown leather handle that smells
like things-so-old-they've-turned-to-air.
Long ago I lost the key but the shape of its missingness
is the most familiar thing left in this place.
Latch-key box latch-key house latch-key life.



My footsteps ricochet off the walls to the toc-toc of the witching hour.
I hail a cab and lament the bouncy back seat and pop tunes of the humming driver,
pay with an app so I don’t have to say goodbye.
Not to cab, not to town, not to room.
The high-pitched wails of the most popular human carting system
grates my melancholy between the tracks.
Claustrophobic, crammed into more boxes
I.
Hate!
Boxes.

I…
Can’t remember how I got here from there.
I sit at the airport waiting for a canceled seat so I can get the next flight to:

Anywhere, Extra Cheap.
I look at a clock and I shouldn’t have.

Footsteps haunting, tracks grating, bumping, wailing, mouth humming slow to a blur.
The family next to me carefully removing themselves from the smell of my suitcase.

“Latch-key box latch-key house latch-key life,” I tell them.