And so here I stand

or to be more specific, sit

and my thoughts are of Marco Polo

His mother, dead; his father not known till age 15

My parents are so long gone

their memories flash across my mind

specters, yet somehow alive

and always a part of me

Intrigued, wanting to cross over, to journey

to a land of great promises and great mysteries

to see with his eyes

to touch, to feel

the sands of a faraway shore

as I, in my chair

long for an even more distant land

unapproachable now

but soon to be in my itinerary

They called him “Messer Marco Milioni”

and I, too, have my personal millions

millions of blessings, millions of faults forgiven

not much in cash

but top-heavy in His love

Marco met with Kublai Khan

As I will meet with his Maker

From South China to Singapore

Sumatra to Southern India

Across the Arabian Sea to Hormuz

600 strong

only 8 survived

As I think back on my peers

How many have survived

the trials of this life

and how many still cling to

His touch and the land

to which we are led