Sojourner.
(a summons)

What is your name?
Night does not explain itself.
It waits.
In the dark before there was day,
he grasped.

He gathered what was free,
occupied what was open,
claimed what was not offered.

Still,
the ache remains.

He does not understand the pain,
only that it followed the blessing,
only that every gain both
reflects light
and
casts shadow.

Every tent planted
supplants another.

He moved.
He reached.
Collected what was near,
seized what was not.
Built what he would not keep,
kept what he would not bless.

Want hardened into warrant.
He did not ask.
Again.
And again.

Distance knows him.
The horizon never resisted
his approach.
Miles and years made their claim.

Patience followed,
unannounced.
Unseen.

And when there were no roads left,
no bargains to make,
no leverage to hold,
no stories to save —
the question returned.

What is your name?

———

What is your name?

I am Sojourner.
Perhaps now I will find
rest.