traveler

the day begs to be with you

by wind it bends towards you

but you bend away

hollow in the center

  without root you up and leave

you’re not one for any garden

not the work of gardener’s hands

nor the upright bold of stone

nor the surrounding gate

  nor the path within

those you’ve known call you a traveler

the distance dreamed of by an idle eye

pretty by mistake

a mirage of intentions

  here for the moment that never stays