nomad musing

the first hours of the
new year were spent
weaving dreams

so many of my waking
hours are spent that way:
spinning webs for tomorrow
and tomorrow and tomorrow

i’ve spun myself
a cocoon of tomorrows,
thick, warm, seductive

here, miles away from the place
i often hesitate to call home,
surrounded by relentless dust and heat,
the cocoon is not so
comfortable

this must be why
i am so often leaving–
to find climes that will
remind me to emerge

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