There have been times
I’ve turned too soon,
following the old roads
out of habit or curiosity,
my itinerate heart leading the way—
a tiny conquistador returning to the ruins.
One street leads to another
and I have been gone too long—
years of memory guiding the wheels.
I must have looked foolishly lost,
slowing down and stopping like I did,
rolling down the window—
the dead-end signs finally clear.
Back home there is a family to feed
and dishes to be done—
small and reasonable expectations.
From here I must take
what would have once been a wrong turn.
No matter how full my heart has ever been,
there is a pulse that whispers vacancy.
is the only place I am lost.