I feel the Earth pressuring my feet,
Craving prints, marking the land,
Assuring my whole assembly up to that moment,
With that body, those clothes and that walk.

Wandering through different soils,
Gently and inadvertently projecting myself
Upward, resisting the whole planet with my foot sole,
With minimal contact to the ground
As if ballerinas were the natural evolution of mankind.

One can follow my steps
To see what I became,
Can look my footprints
And know if I behave,
Can track my shoe shopping
And know if I've been working.

It's in the way I walk,
Merely standing, barely moving,
Now and then falling, inevitably:
A certain disregard
Keeps me distant, untouchable,
I can never reach my old prints anymore;
The wind has blown them,
Rain has washed them,
But it does not matter...
It's just vanity.

He who sees me walking in circles
Can never know where I came from.