Wanderer (Poetry)

I am the aimless wanderer
who ambles down the page
imagining the landscape of the moon
I loiter in the margins
while the morning slips on by
then I find myself a quiet afternoon

I doodle shallow footprints
and I name them as my own
though they seldom grow significant in size
yet I nurture all these notions
draw odd poems in the dark
but such flowers fade before dismaying eyes

The words might lose their footing
slip-slide right away from sense
and dream a pointless paragraph or two
but somewhere in the ramble
looking lost and all forlorn
a little scrap of longing stumbles through