Just Walking Around

        What names do I have for you?
	Certainly there is no name for you
	In the sense that the stars have names
	That somehow fit them.  Just walking around,
	 
        An object of curiosity to some,
	But you are too preoccupied
	By the secret smudge in the back of your soul
	To say much, and wander around,
	 
        Smiling to yourself and others.
	It gets kind of lonely
	But at the same time off-putting,
	Counterproductive, as you realize once again
	 
        That the longest way is the most efficient way,
	The one that looped among islands, and
	You always seemed to be traveling in a circle.
	And now that the end is near
	 
        The segments of the trip swing open like an orange.
	There is light in there, and mystery and food.
	Come see it.  Come not for me but it.
	But if I am still there, grant that we may see each other.