Nomads

He had given up
On alcohol
Love and friends
Forcing himself to walk
A hundred miles
Out of his way
To avoid palm trees
Crystal ponds
Or any other manifestation
Of a desperate mind

The last time
He searched my eyes
For one thing
To keep his release
Wrapped in brass
I stared at the drink
In my hands
And wondered
If the wind would
Erase his passing
Before I could follow
The footprints