and the sun is setting.

There are no streetlights

here. The earth is dark

black despite white

snow all around.

Light didn’t make it

here, just quit somewhere

in the heavens.

High, high up,

in the corner of

the atmosphere

is perpetual dawn,

a subtle blue

on the ceiling of

this city’s firmament.

The light is

so far gone

my own eye-lid

is hidden to me,

yet perpetual dawn

glows on, some

atmospheric mirage

in the vast Canadian distance.

This is one scene from

many on the road.

The employer buys you onto a plane,

then a connection, a rental, a room,

an entire week of travel,

spat out wherever you wind up.

Modern conveniences

like internet and mobile computing

have made it possible to travel back,

virtually,

instantly,

from wherever you are.

Except virtual meetings

don’t connect from the fuselage.

Spreadsheets

must be stowed through security.

Messages

do not disturb when the client has paid their tens of thousands to be with you, right then, at this very time.

At that time,

only one thought survives:

“I am here.”

Where I am not,

I am not.

The nomad learns,

the nomad is taught,

the nomad realizes

the impossibility and folly of

maintaining what is left behind.

Everyone thinks they can take it with them,

especially those who never leave,

until they learn,

through leaving,

they cannot.

They leave

and what they leave

is dead to them,

and to them

they are dead to what they leave.

The nomad knows no familiarities,

accounts no possessions,

grieves no relationship,

expects no tomorrow,

remembers no yesterday.

They are free,

totally owned

by their present experience,

dutiful only

to the now

with no expectancy of

its end or beginning.

There is no shelf to rest upon,

no destination to arrive upon,

just an ever-ending current of the sea.

It is only upon

a nomad’s return

that they realize how deceptive settler life can be,

that we take our responsibilities so seriously,

accounting for the home,

for the family,

the business,

the governance,

the marketplace,

the church,

and the many calendar commitments politely sequencing time.

We assume ruin if

we don’t prescribe perfectly

to all the tasks,

rules, and

maintenance.

But the nomad learns

surrendering duty

is duty.

It’s 4:15 (this time,

in the morning),

and I woke up this morning

knowing I only had time to

pack my bags and

make my flight,

moving through security

knowing I only had time to

move through security,

sitting on the plane

knowing I only had time to

sit on the plane,

arriving home,

knowing I only had time to

arrive home,

leaving again,

knowing I only had time to

leave ... and having no time

I was free of it.

Unable to keep it,

I let go.

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