The Pilgrim Poet

Startled! the pilgrim finds her way, pencil packed

to mark the progress, stops along the route planned

and unplanned

surfaces emerge to carry the weight of her words,

a table top in a hut half-way to the destination

everyone talks about over wine and bread, cheese

and other romances of the saints with the stuff of earth.


She kisses the doorway on the way out and onward,

stepping over a yellow, unknown dog lying full in the sun,

asleep since soon, soundly content and snoring—


She wrote on the surface of the table behind: she came to be

closer than before to the Voice prodding her towards,

and away from, surrender: to unload, unpack the body’s weight

of existence evidenced in items stowed (retrieved, re-stowed)—

slender things like pencils and harder ones to describe or own,

the few creature comforts clinging to her soul;


the soul of a pilgrim

drawn to places of slanted light and scrawled messages

left for someone else to find.



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