When I Grow Up

I want to be a traveling poet
I know for sure
that when the wind blows
my toes itch with fervor for movement
and the momentum comes
from never knowing
where I might land
or what home
might become my own
As a daughter of the stars
I remain tightly cast in a web
of not quite reality
spaced out but content
to float on by
exchange a rhyme or two
and wonder why
anyone spends their nine to five
another way