The suitcase weighs less now.
I learned what not to bring.
The unnecessary shoes. The hardcover book.
The certainty that applause
will repair what aches.

Highways unroll their grey ribbon.
Hotel keys demagnetize.
Soundchecks occur
in rooms smelling of coffee
and extension cords.

I move differently through it.

I know which towns have stores I like.
How to stretch before lifting amplifiers.
How to sleep using unfamiliar pillows.

I stand inside the shared attention
the old songs discover
new faces to inhabit.

I have buried people.

Bandmates.
Teachers.
Audience members

The young assume touring is escape.
I know it is return.
Again to the microphone.

Again to the piano.
Again to the astonishing fact
strangers gather in darkness
hoping to feel less alone.

Then I gather my things,
step back into the night,
follow the melody
toward whatever remains.