Stopped a Bit

You want live where the rest tour,
To rest where they drive, to work where

They rest from work, or try, to be
A part of what they came to see,

The part that they don’t or can’t see.
This is not to call it your home,

Not to say you own it, to boast
Its red dirt, black earth, or blue skies

Run in your veins. You weren’t born here,
Nor were you born where you were born.

You took a long time to get steeped
In the names and times that shaped you,

Most of which did not come from here,
No more than you. But now you’re here,

Stopped a bit, paused, and now it clicks.
Why not live as part of what’s this?