On Gambols and Gambles

Halfway across the map,
Something between roam
And color-bearing crusade,
I sought after HOME
That mysterious happening
Pulsing in the soul
Like a lighthouse flashing
The weary traveler’s goal.
Home is the tune by which
The back of the brain lives beset:
That song you won’t remember,
Nor can you ever forget
But a westerly gust
Filled my ears
With longing like drumbeats
Though the source was unclear
I followed this tune
Through the tangled trees
By coastline and ridgeline
Over bridge, out of lee,
Landing empty-handed,
All my provisions hard-spent,
Bearing all degradations
To pay my children’s rent

The singular gravity
That pulled me inland
Stands too good for me
Appraisals now rend
My tender torn dignity
I am kicked by strangers
Because I am not worthy
Of protection from danger
And the song I so loved
That leaves me far-flung
Is beyond my own voice;
It must remain unsung.
How foolish I’ve been!
What a fool I am
To wager all I was
For a passing West Wind.

Now I must decide whether
To gaze from the gutter, day after day,
Or restore my empty fortunes
By moving away

From the Masterpiece.