Going Places

 

That way, Ballybofey;

that way, Donegal.

Across the Bluestack mountains, Glenties;

to the east, Castlederg.

But in the direction I’m pointing: Ursa Major, Ursa Minor, Draco;

the faraway places, the intimate places;

places I’ve dreamt of,

places I’ve taken refuge.

Roads that arrive,

more that never do

criss-cross

that plain.

I’ve hitch-hiked

since a boy;

those roads are straight and endless,

and take you

not to where you want,

but to where you need.