The Wanderer

A story

The Wanderer rises while it’s still dark
To get a head start on the sun
Who is always on his heels 
Chasing the horizon
And the man

“The way is West,”
So says the wind

West
It is always west 
The Wanderer’s trust wears thin these days, 
but what else can he do?

He cannot stay in this place
And he cannot go back
For Wanderers, like churning waters,
Never settle

The way is forward
to an unseen home
like the Great and many Waters
Flow toward the Sea
Waiting patiently in the lowest place

He walks the earth
His skin, his only home
His threadbare clothes, his tent
Hung on crooked bones 

His only possession is himself 
But even he is borrowed
For some day he will return to his origin
And surrender his dust back to
The Great Mother

As his life has been sustained by others’ deaths
So it will be with him
Life for life
In an unending circle

The Wanderer sets off
The sun close on his heels