Stowaway

one-way ticket just for me,
female nomad alone in the crowd,
stowaway up my sleeve;

a million words will never describe,
every thesaurus so inadequate
the clearest photograph can't ever capture,
no film or memory card is capable

and yet....

for every step over every bridge,
laughter at my, 'Blast It's!'






through every shadowed alley and sunlit square or rainy rooftop and puddled lane,
my umbrella partner and confidante with shades;






on the boats in the biting wind and aboard the gently rocking train,
a shoulder for my sleepy head;

at the cheap hotel and sitting down to eat,

conversation just for me;

in every song on the IPOD and in the music of the foreign crowd,
whispered laughter and shared imaginings;



in all the moments of sitting or standing and just being still,
presence closer than Pan's taylored shadow;

on the bench in the garden, lying in the sun,
secrets on the breeze;
















look again . . .

that's where you were
that's where you are

with me
nomads & dreams