Nomad

You stop being the nomad I know
once you set the pegs into the ground
carve a circle round your tent and declare:
this is the house I know-
I have enough; a goat, a running river and a lifetime

You are not the type that begs
you'd work the desert, plough the goat
filter river waters in the nests of your beard
you make a possibility of stones

You will stop being the nomad I know
once you carve yourself into a timetable
accessible to others, kind to your own
you will settle between the frame and the picture
some sand in your toes, some hay in your hair
and the traveler's wind blowing around your shoulders
urging you to stop settling down