Vagabonds and Bohemians

walking, slow.

hoping that I might

find Rilke

walking the same path

noticing the tangle.

Roots and rocks

intertwined as if

the human heart extends

to the earth

and love is a reached

(for and toward)

thing that pounds

in the rhythm

of coursing water

across boulder,

deadfalls,

dead ancestors

and dreams.

Done