Notes Found Scrawled in the Margins of an Unpublished Roadmap

This is a way of life where I come from
and I come from a lot of places.
I come from the dawn in the first light
having walked under the moon for hours.
I come out of swamps and straggletrees.
I come out of the hearts of stones.
I come with words of the wind and sea.
There ain’t no place I don’t come from.
I been in the high roof gardens where stars
triumph over the lights of the city,
and in the mossy gutters where alcohol keeps you warm.
burning one way or another and no one’s particular.
Now, maybe I don’t come from schools
or maybe I do—what do you remember?
I come from inside
where the throat tickles, where the lungs laugh
where the air breathes out in strings of words.