Barbarian hordes massing at the gate,
As you and your co-conspirators look for a way,
To turn back history,
Or else, slip those fleshy bonds that hold you,
In fetters...
Meanwhile, I lie in a field of short grasses,
Tickled by a summer breeze.
It's night.
And above me, there is no moon,
Only stars,
Arranged in strange constellations,
That remain, nonetheless,
Familiar.
I'm on the road now.
The hardest part was knowing when best to sleep,
And when to travel.
(2012)
