Wanderlust
	“Not all those who wander are lost.”--J.R.R. Tolkien

Sometimes it is not enough to know things.
The line between lust and love can be cruel.

The lake, too placid, mirrors sky.
You disappear in a forest of words.

The air is both beautiful and stagnant.
This horizon breaks before me like a smile.

The word “ramble” keeps appearing,
a seedling trying to saunter through soil.

This is the heart of wanderlust:
soon everything stops whirling, delightful, merciless.

I climb in my bright red car.
Wandering is only a part of my lust.

People were not meant to travel in packs.
Alone, we are gracious and humble.

There is more at stake than loneliness here.
I search for emptiness in all things.

Beginnings are rich, not necessarily virtuous.
Come home, the light says.

Stay here, O emptiness.
It has taken me so long to find you.

© Carla Hartsfield