Hope in the Wonderer

Hope In the Wanderer

There is hope in the wanderer.

A restless romance
Of passing cars,
Empty overlooks,
And lingering lovers.

Dusty tracks
Through acres of dirt,
And climbing trees
Just to see
The glowing
windows In the city.

Different doors,
With similar couches,
Crouching behind
picket fences,
And shadows
of bright white houses.

Farther from roads,
Than stars and clouds,
At rest on on the rocks,
With linens of moss,
Washing with dew,
That drips across
the forgotten
feral paths.

Blistered toes,
Gripping stones,
seek shelter in the sun.
As it rises red,
More familiar than blood,
Rising higher than
the flood.

But the cold
Has a way,
Of taking hold,
And sinking those,
With Decembers snow,
A blustery rush
And frigid touch,
That reminds lost souls
To turn their hope

Toward home.