A Sonnet “I wander” starts the simple song. I know The rhythm, how to walk, but not the way. I watch as others scatter on the road Each scramble nine directions hurriedly. An open bag of wind unspools my will, Spins me into schools, houses, sheets, and arms— Not one’s a home, but they will do until I steer out of miles and into hours. The course charted with whys—uncertain winds— Comes clear in shadow dreams and memories— To a sea of grass lapping autumn woods, And last night’s dress hung until morning. You whisper, “No more wandering for you. This is your home. This all you have to do.” Share this:TwitterFacebookLike this:Like Loading...