Photo by Christophe Losberger (sitatof) on Foter.com / CC BY-NC-SA

Trilling

It’s an old enough question
what makes you — your blood
or the place where you were planted
if you wear tartan in the desert
and in your heart a glen calls
with bagpipers trilling out sad songs
spears in formation, as foaming chargers stomp
in another time or place,
ignoring the lack of hygiene or dental insurance
wild, romantically, with fairies dancing
or Thoreau wandering in his woods
we drift to Walden fantasies in the in betweens
in traffic or before tests
when studying would be more advantageous.