behind the paced metallic clatter of nursing rounds
the mind migrates to a place where solitude is light
and the man in the moon is silent and stubborn, like
the stars refusing to speak english, though old sun,
a free sprit, speaks love in every language

come morning
i awaken to gusty bursts of citrus colors,
lively yellow ginkgo leaves boogie-woogie in the wind,
with pen in claw, a grumpy old crow signs my discharge papers . . .

i’m ready to go ~
my carryall carries nothing

every journey, i have learned,
is a leg on the journey home

no baggage needed
no baggage wanted

Old poem, rewritten © 2018, poem and photograph, Jamie Dedes, All rights reserved



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