To Parts Unknown

When I can’t think or do

but stare down roads

or watch the walls

confusing light for sound

crossing days off with indecision

the empty sky

and lonely road

meet who knows where.

When days run quiet

half future

half past

there may remain a question

I don’t mind

and that’s ok;

so if the door’s half open

unattended by certainty

know I’m somewhere near

tending to the days far off.