Where I Belong

This is where I belong:
standing on a road, thumb out
cars blowing sandy hair
And milkweed pods in the gravel
flying in aimless butterfly patterns
away,
and melting white into the sky.
Or crouching in rattling traincars,
bruised and shaken, rolling
across the grimy floor,
and peering out at wide meadows
and bushy bayberry
and hedge bindweed sprawling,
grasping the stones and rotting ties.
Or spreading blankets out
and drinking soda in silent bathrooms,
reading phrases with a flashlight
and sleep -
this is where I belong.
I'll keep my feet here
where I have to be,
how long?