Sometimes journeys are best taken
Alone. The time of day
When the world is so new,
It hurts. Raw and pink at the edges.
Just me, myself, and I
And the frozen mist of my breath
As if to say
That if I spoke, the words would hang
In the air. Unforgotten, though no one was there
To hear them.
But I do not speak
The day is yet too brittle.
Before me stretch a line of footprints
Muddy outlines in the newborn snow.
Someone has already tasted
This morning, making me
Just a little guilty
For drinking from another’s cup.
Walking slowly, I match their stride.
Placing each foot in its matching slot.
The fit is perfect. It might
As well have been me.
Two me’s, two mornings.
With a chilled smile, I walk on
No longer alone.
Accompanied but walkers
Mornings past
And mornings yet to come.
Jul 11, 2010
Jul 11, 2010 at 9:33 AM UTC
Sometimes journeys are best taken
Alone. The time of day
When the world is so new,
It hurts. Raw and pink at the edges.
Just me, myself, and I
And the frozen mist of my breath
As if to say
That if I spoke, the words would hang
In the air. Unforgotten, though no one was there
To hear them.
But I do not speak
The day is yet too brittle.
Before me stretch a line of footprints
Muddy outlines in the newborn snow.
Someone has already tasted
This morning, making me
Just a little guilty
For drinking from another’s cup.
Walking slowly, I match their stride.
Placing each foot in its matching slot.
The fit is perfect. It might
As well have been me.
Two me’s, two mornings.
With a chilled smile, I walk on
No longer alone.
Accompanied but walkers
Mornings past
And mornings yet to come.