Travelling, Home

Wherever we walk—
Concrete, gravel, grass
Under our feet — we

Tread as constant travellers
In our time as time passes
In all directions around us.

For all our focus forward
Toward a thing we call
Destination, we retain

At our elbows the goal
We seek, belied by a
Simple sidelong glance.

No matter our direction,
It, is never more distant
Than our current place

Where others always
Already provide the
Basis for here as a

Place to call home.