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.