Friday, September 18, 2009

In the Watch of your Feet

In the Watch of your Feet

I read the life of a monk and wanted to walk
on a market road with lanterns
and speak to the awnings about where I could rest
my voice. I sang above the reach of my eyes
and forgot the street, that people stared with twitched mouth,
pressing their ideas to almost speak. I would rather have a conversation
with a tree, laying against its trunk with my voice
given away to the one who can carry it. I could travel until my self
was forgotten like a child first seeing flowers -
I have been with my self for as long as I am
and I have tired my eyes in my sight -
now I can only travel in the watch of your feet.

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