Walking, I find my feet settled in the ground

I do not need to speak a word for nature

What needs to be said has been said

And what else can be said that wind would not suffice to say

Let alone the urging of summer’s sun and winter’s night

Besides, on this night I found myself moseying on a surface harder than grass

Listening, I pause to take in the lack of sound

It is comforting, and terrifying

I greet windows

Doors to lives in complete ignorance of my own

Some hold creaking tales stark in contrast to those they now make

But stories are all that wood and brick can hold together

Partaking, I gaze through their screens to see what makes a home

I meet happiness

I see in one what I hope for me

A woman going back and forth

Setting a table

Checking her face in a mirror

Waiting, for something worthy of wait

Not slave but loving mate

The next an empty darkness

Another, light, but no patron

Yet another

Light, but the members were outside

Curled together on a porch swing sipping memories

Petting a dog

Tracing outlines of wrinkles like so many lines on so many pages

I would that I had asked for some of their stories as a gift of charity

But I moved on

Again with only my feet and silence

I have no stick

I have no road

No journey preferred

I am not on a nightly constitutional to clear one’s thoughts

My thoughts are rampant

I could not walk them even if I dreamed

The path is unclear

I chart my way, yet I feel less free

Reading the cracks on the cement, I question the future

They also make me concern for my mother

But unlike when I played games of a youth remembered

I struggle now against the rules

I am no king or crusader

I have no castle

No realm to saunter in

My hands seem less callused

More scarred

They contain less beast

More lamb than lion

I am in a three-piece suit

But I am not a manager

I can barely manage myself

I rust in armor no longer white

Things are off

But not on an adventurous way

While the ground beneath me is solid

The ground beneath me is unsure

I am unsure

In a puddle, I see my eyes

Wholly, and unholy

In these screens a few memoirs of my own

Some retracing to be done

I have fewer grails than I expected

I assume I will acquire more nails

Nothing that more time, study, and doors cannot tell


4 responses to “Walking

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