Picture the traveler,
Hermes even,
Not old, now,
Not ever old,
Sitting awake in his bed
Or perhaps not a bed,
But a cradle
In a cave
In the single day
When he was one of us.
I see him now, don’t you?
Dark curls, bright eyes
Already full of mischief
And — something like
Bitterness,
That Hope will not let
Harden.
He is so ready to leave
That he sleeps with
His shoes on.
His first words were
Real estate advertisements:
One cave, large enough for two,
Well-furnished,
Available by
The end of the week,
No cosigner required,
Will trade
For furs and food.