he waits for once with a patient face
yet nervous hands
contorted round each other
roots all ready
to sink in and find breath
neath the bedrock
soon as he's ready
to do all this catching
and in this
exists no
sinking feeling.
(justified and grinning)
(sacrosanct and finding)
(the future can be appealing)
(someday, a home for dwelling)
just farmhouses with wrap-around porches
where the snow still finds it's way in the winter
no longer foraging or nomadic
and something at which he'll never be a quitter.
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