walking around the circle sea
I, myself, and me
in search of the broken arrow
shot from a star in the distant constellation
falling to earth among the towering oaks and passive pines
a million man acorn army ruling the ground
never to be found are the
drummer boys off in the distance
sound omens of destruction
/ / /
rain tapping on the metal roof
peering out a tiny window upper bunk
of a 17 foot Fan travel trailer
listening for bears or raccoons making tracks
those night owls of the wilderness
wandering about in search of treasures
the smell of distant campfires
the distant sound of am radio
wafting through the thin august air
lone motorcycle roaring down an anonymous country road late at night
somewhere in the vast distance
maybe a mile away, maybe a thousand miles away
ten years old and wishing I was on that bike
going somewhere, anywhere
