Just Geography

We’ve been following old roads,
Carrying old loads,
Passed from hands to hands and
Shouldering demands
We can’t understand.

We’ve been drinking elixirs,
Looking for fixers,
Someone who’s handy with some spackle
Someone to tackle
Our old rusted shackles.

We’ve been roving all night,
Packing light,
A coin in the cap
And no home on the map,
For a return lap.

We’ve been getting older,
But never bolder,
Never bold enough to turn around,
To stare the years down,
To drive a stake in a piece of ground.

The wanderer is a language,
A song of anguish
That passes through trees,
Gets heard, gets forgotten, leaves
Before the next breeze

Reminds of whats and whens
Without the whys.