Wending

I stare at the map, meticulously planning.
Starting from the west and ending at the east.
The journey sits clear in my mind,
waiting to be realized by my hands.

I hesitate to grab a marker,
To annotate the map with a plan,
While making this real now is scary,
it might all be worth it?

The rest would feel like a blur,
like the sun in the rearview mirror.
Overnight my side mirror might be smashed,
my prayers would cling to my license.

Much of this journey is flat,
The only concern is gasoline.
This is the problem with waiting on dreams,
Though I have my hero license now.

Stepping back from my map,
This dream is not so infeasible.
It would give me more than a month of my life,
The cost of this experience is the start.

So, I back the car out of the garage,
but I’ll only drive an hour.
I tell myself it’s all practice for this,
though with inaction this is a lie.

By now on the trip I have grown weary,
My face dirty and unkempt,
The dream is still alive, and so
the people are still kind.

The goal of the wending is,
Not to be cool, not even to be there.
The goal is simple, to wander,
Whatever that may mean.

Extra

The visual poem that accompanies this is here.