Toll-house

I find you again on a place

along the road, far from people

you used to, as to your border.

Perhaps you meditate about unknown

things, or you think about travelling,

like me, seeking affirmation.

Under your cruciform roof,

your eyes wide open in white face,

you’re almost humble low, still

now and old but, although moved,

for all an historical rest.

I never put a foot on your floor,

but followed you, took you with me

on my trip, as part of the land

I love. Now you dream like me

about a summer, awaking gardens

and you wake up, confused of uproot,

other ground and never ever the same.