All Roads

The First Drum sings,

from the wet bone hollow,

between breath and flesh.

This red rhythm we know,

buried in our skin,

pressed into our fingertips,

rushing tidal,

in the still shell of our ears,

rivered in the primal map of our blood.

This ancient beat calls,

beyond the empty of speak,

beyond the dark chance separating stars.

We move on blind, animal feet,

Inevitable circles,

Howling to grasp the bright heat

of this one True know:

All secret passages

All nameless trails

All cleared or cobbled,

verdant or bleak,

All windswept, tormented, haunted

moon silent, rain dazzled,

shame heavy or grace gilded,

twisted or true,

All Roads

lead Home.