No direction home
but I’m somebody’s someone somewhere
Those things that I fear I’m without
are often discovered within
A trillion trillion stars
blink into being, burn out,
our little lives mere half-breaths
in the iron lung of eternity—
I find solace in my neverlastingness
Near the off-ramp a change of fortune:
a concrete culvert,
shelter for this wayward hobo,
the lullaby of traffic,
a spider’s web my dreamcatcher
Desolation feels truer than false hope
but I pray nonetheless:
That the cold becomes my blanket,
that uncertainty acts as my guide.
That the trillion trillion stars
share their incandescence
For as Rumi wrote
the wound is where the light enters
Tim Rudolph is a poet living in Santa Cruz, CA.