When the Road Goes Home

The morning finds me softer now than the man I used to be.

Every mile took something out, but it gave something back to me.

I don't chase the rear view lights. I don't ask what might've been.

I've learned the road was teaching me how to finally let things in.

Some answers come like open hands, not clenched in certainty.

When the road goes home and the noise falls quiet, when the long

way around finally makes sense, I don't need a map or a

reason to understand. I just let go when the road goes home.