The expectations of travel.

[camus]

She presumed I’d return wise, knowing things…

I didn’t, I:

Journeyed oblivious, discounting all hope
of third eyes, of second sight, of first love.
I travelled bewildered, alone, but together

with distances, I drove a herd of dreams
through the Delta, through the nub of
inaccessible quandaries, discovering

nothing, recognising no-one, free…
Free to discard lands stitched together
by past and present, by voluminous

morning quails, by tight sought back
alleys and their filthy inevitabilities…
In hindsight - a word for the lost -

I have come some way towards
taking it all in, much like praying:
a repetitive refrain, masking the truth…