At the crossroads now, moonlight
drenched,  soaked in all its storied
charm and hazard.

I’ve stopped here 
on my way West
after long years in the East.

I never much thought about getting
proper directions before I left;
simply got up and headed toward

what I thought 
would feel like home.
Kept sunset ahead to guide me.

Ending up here seems now
preordained if you can say that
while observing that preacher-ish figure

approaching from the south.
Long way off. Moving faster
than seems possible. Can’t tell

if I know them, if it’s someone
I’ve met in passing, on more
intimate turf, or never before. 

The air smells like I’ve been here
before this. As if
someone like myself

had been here decades
or more ago.  Old music slips 
toward me up the wind:

a song of my fathers, a song
of lost brothers, a song of ruptured love
and sold out family. 

How long until midnight?
It’s a mystery. How long have we both
been walking? It’s a mystery too. 

I just know I’ve been trying
to put words
to those songs for too long

and to find them here means
I’ve somehow
come home again, 

and as I’ve always known home
is not, has never been safe.
But I’m here.

It’s nearly time 
to shake hands
with that preacher 

and find out what will be 
beyond tomorrow’s sunset
when I get there.