If I were an Ancient Wayward Traveler, I would move across the old countries a bit in the same way that a car full of traveling musicians does, albeit with one less drum set. And probably a cooler sort of hat.

poetry

There are not two
thousand miles between our comings
and our goings,
but it takes two trips
to come and go
completely.

Feet blistered hands raw
from running the walking
stick at probably just four
miles or so. We can’t be too
hasty after all.

Someone lost count after some
of those miles but we
aren’t so long in to the
coming, and as far as things
seem to go, the going
may be rather slow,
so maybe let’s not worry so much
about maps and the like.

Maybe let’s take a moment
or two
to stretch, scratch, and
retie that loose pair of sandals

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