Megan Eaves

the nomad soul
craves
a dust lining for nostrils.
dust from a petrol station
along some highway in the earth’s heart
that nobody ever saw.

the nomad soul
seeks fellow nomads
linguistic anomolies
those who know dipthongs from alveolar stops
those who find the forgotten corners
of byzantine churches.

the nomad soul
loves deeply
yet finds joy in no home
joy in souls where is sensed
some deep dissatisfaction
some yearning for the unknown spaces.

the nomad soul
has no bus to catch
but frequents that african station
for mere thrill of adventure.

we are.

top photo: xinjiang, 2005
second photo: qinghai, 2014