I find myself wondering
about the people on the street
the ones who bang on heartbeat drums
and dance on hummingbird feet.

Do they travel road to road,
the country in their wake?
Or live on one streetcorner,
clutching at the brake?

I wonder all the time:
What will become of me?
What does my future hold?
What woman will I be?

If she is a street performer
I hope that she will roam.
Countrysides to cityscapes,
taxicabs to ocean foam.

She’ll dance her way across the earth,
see all the people pass.
She’ll thank the Lord she does not have
a mansion made of glass.

A nomad’s home is stronger;
It will not fall by stones.
I’ll make my home the woman
that dances in my bones.