Departure Times

He put the world in order
While I was gathering
We weather tragedies
As we weave them
These aren’t the dreams
I meant to build
But I was born to the road
And only certain types
Travel the yellow lines
By necessity
Building a whole life
Folds like a fantasy
Into your bindle
Faded photographs
Of the lives you almost had,
Almost lived, almost loved
Until the wind changes
And you do too.
He means I’m never together
And I’m never alone
But I’ll always have help
Packing for the next leg
All the love I almost give,
All the home I almost build,
Belong to the bindle
To the faded photograph
Of who I might have been
But never have

Never could have.