In the middle of the road,
I look back and there you are.
Always are, not far.
These hands don’t hold much,
But I give them to you anyway.
Please stay. Please stay.
Hide my palm in your palm,
Keep me from the folly of knowledge
Gleaned from the fields of the world,
Which lie by the path that ends in darkness.
You make your dwelling with me,
In the middle of the road.
A fire burns at your feet,
Then a hearth, then a home, then
A place where all roads come to
To find where they will go.
That little gift is now a treasure in your hand.
You are here. Now I understand.