Poetic Wander-Lust

The smell
of her kindergarten classroom
and a newschool,
with the scent of summer
and the image of green hills and valleys.

She thinks of the future,
swearing that all the sunrises will be hers,
someday, somewhere more
beautiful
and full of what she sees when she reads her books.
Yes, she will wake up early,
with her tea and a cigarette,
to cut a poetic image against the red-faced sun.
She will do it
as soon as she finds
The Place
where waking up early would be worth it.

But sometimes she wonders,
what if there is no place?
What if some people are never content
to be anywhere but everywhere?
And what if she is one of those eternally restless wanderers?
What then, for contentment,
for the early-morning feeling of sharpness,
of pleasant aloneness?
What then?