Home is Where the Stop is

Maybe in my footworn roads
With silent sunsets, and lone songs,
And quiet doors, and midnight miles
Maybe I’ve been home all along.

Maybe in these futile searches
I’ve been always falling
Drifting, molding into
My own, hidden calling.

Maybe these secrets I plucked,
Like fruit from the wild trees
Along uncharted fields
Will sink the roots I need,

Were always the roots I need.

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