I've been walking,
walking through years ago:
in and out of conversations,
lonely declarations,
and things I thought I knew
and sometimes still pretend to know.

Through two fields of
partially formed ideas,
where honesty stains
the **** and grass blade
some lush-but-vague hue,
I saw the innocent childhood
slip and fall into the city.

Up and down an avenue,
where misplaced hated
and embarrassment hide,
I lost sight of the
adolescent mind
between my bewilderment
at unmarked signs.

There I heard my voice
urging friends of some half-truth.
It sounded so unsure
I distrusted myself.
Like gazelle, my little lies
ran, scattering throughout the sky,
then were gone, camouflaged in cloud.

I've been walking,
walking through years ago:
in and out of conversations:
impulsive declarations
of things I thought
and was once believed to know.