Wandering

Wandering 
And wondering 

What is the purpose of travel?
Is it a selfish act?
Does it have a higher purpose?
Can a new street 
Or a pine tree
Save a person 
In the depth of darkness
And despair?

Castle exploring 
In England or Arizona 
Creates the same wandering 
Of mind 
For me

Of possibilities 
What could have been 
I imagine
This person 
Slept right here
This person 
Kicked a ball around 
The goalpost
Or ground the corn
Or fought off intruders 
Or got married 
Had a celebration 
Fell off a chair
Or created a meal
In this very place...

Could it have been real?

And could it be taking place still?


Maybe just a shadow 
Or a momentary thought 
Like a passing gust of wind
Reveals the bustling activity 
Of generations.