Good riddance, black-eyed gypsy,
with your silver pots clattering
on the wagon, glinting in the sun.
I’d rather be a tree nodding
at the caravan, filled with crickets
chanting, We belong—the old advice
not to forsake the path but,
slowly sinking roots,
arms raised heavenward,
bridging sky and earth, become it.
Mark Jackley is an ad writer by day and poet whenever he finds the time. Fortunately, that’s pretty often. He works and lives in the Washington, DC, area and has a wonderful five-year-old daughter, plus three cats. His poems have appeared in small presses including Alba, Evergreen Review, Poesy and The Antietam Review.