For All Those Who Wander

Home to me has always been between pages

Thoughts and dreams caught in simple shapes

Words woven together

Black on white

Like twigs into a nest

Rarely do I spare a thought for the birds,

On countless kaleidoscope wings

They gather the odds and ends of anonymous lives

In flights of fancy, they make their strange houses

and there is where

I live.

Where would I be if not for the birds?

Grounded, greasy from the dust and dirt

Empty eyed and bare skinned

Instead, I am painted in ink

Letters spiral on my skin

Kernels of truth glitter

like diamonds at my throat

And pearls of wisdom gleam

in the tresses of my hair

By their lifeworld

I am made bright.

I am a blessed nomad.

Into the razor-edged everyday

I carry a pocketful of eggs

the smooth caress of shell on skin

and round warm weight

in the palm of my hand.

Whenever or wherever I wander

When the silence finds me,

There is birdsong, too.