From Maine to Florida

Mind you I have miles to go before I sleep

and miles to go

and miles

and who knows

where they lead,

but here in Florida, now,

I am living

for the first time in my life

with no family nearby

even as I plot

in vain,

to change that later in the year,

and I wonder if I can stand it,

if I can stand on ceremony

and live my life 

this way,

the way I always wanted it,

the way I never wanted it

after my niece,

the way that gives me so much time

but takes so much away,

the distance where love is,

the space that should not exist

cannot be traversed

even in a phone

adequately,

this migrant heart,

this migrant soul,

lost in the byways of life,

I suppose,

like anyone else,

the true American dream,

that hope that somewhere on the horizon

there will be something that might satisfy...

From Virginia to Maine

The last time I lived in Maine

is also the happiest time

I've ever lived there,

a miracle season

I shared with my niece,

traveling a mobile home,

roadways to parks,

around the park itself,

sometimes just playing with the sand

left there from the winter months

and never collected,

or the puddles left by rain

or the soccer balls left outside

or the model homes

we could waste time inside

or thew families who would let us play with them,

or the snow,

or the bounteous snow,

or that time we lost heat

and gained layers,

the pond I named in her honor,

since it was never given one...

This was also the last time to date

I've gotten to spend time

with my nephews there,

the trips down to Freeport,

free of care,

knowing how much they loved

spending time with me,

which I still find

unaccountable.

From Florida to Virginia

The other life my sister shared with me

was the family I found

in Virginia,

which I treasure to this day

and always will,

while living in an RV

that was at that point

anchored in one spot.

There I made friends

with a homeless man

who lived in a tent

and once swung a sword

at the feet of someone,

which sadly remains

the only anecdote

of any kind

with a sword

I can share.

From Maine to Florida

The first time I went to Florida

changed my life forever,

the first time I took responsibility

for a young child's life,

not just any child's

but my niece,

and that was a journey

in and of

itself.

Story for another time;

story of a lifetime.

From Colorado to Maine

And then I headed

back to Maine,

where I recouped some fortunes

and watched my mother die,

and it's still mostly the latter

that defines this period,

the road to a different era,

where all roads lead,

really.

From Massachusetts to Colorado

In contrast,

Colorado Springs

always had the instinct

to swallow me whole,

regardless of how hard I tried,

and I lived there

longer than anywhere else

except home

and now here in Tampa,

so this is from considerable experience,

not vague transitory impression

or transient reductionism.

I went there with hope,

where hope would spring eternal,

and maybe it was disappointment

that defined the outcome.

...Then again,

I never did appreciate

just how many bookstores

there were there.

Perhaps

my vagaries

are a purgatory.

From Maine to Massachusetts

The first time I truly lived somewhere

other than home

was in Burlington, Massachusetts.

The day before I headed out,

I have no problems admitting

I cried.

But it was there,

really,

I truly began to appreciate

getting to discover

what there was to find

in new environs.

I still like to believe

I found a lot of what was available

around me,

not just that spot

where the Founding Fathers hid,

or the house owned by that loyalist,

or the reservoir,

not even the remnant of Victoria Station

(which I ridiculously sing about to this day)

...All of it, basically.

I made that place home.