Outside: I can hear the cars race by.
Horns blare out their dull song.
Radio broadcasts barely audible over
the outside world around them.

When movement strikes these bones
I rise with nothing and wander
to nowhere.
I stand among parking lots
and trees.
Among people and night skies.
Sun and moon.

My soles are worked almost bare.
There is peace in solitude.
There is life in movement.
There is a quiet kind of strength in
looking forward.
I want to be a part of these things.
I want to feel them stir in me
until they are all that is left.
Until my thoughts are
consumed by them.
By the chill wind against my cheeks.

Until I am a new man.