1146. WALKING ON THE EDGE MARLENE

WALKING ON THE EDGE MARLENE
My God, I really don't know you :
I am walking on the edge, Marlene, here
where the early-morning street-sweeper
crawls along the curbs and corners, splashing
water out beneath its scratchy brushes. Like
the cat's low meowling, I am heard to utter
sounds - long and short, no matter, all
my sounds nonetheless. I walk past all
the empty doorways and the broken lights.
I really don't know you at all.
-
Turning inward is an infelicitous thing -
inscribing thoughts in private notebooks,
writing small ideas in bigger places then they
deserve. The sin is wanderlust, some seer says.
I laugh back at him, and say 'I've been walking
since I was ten, you fool.' I really don't know you,
Marlene, but probably wouldn't even if I could.
-
Paradox and conundrum. Two paired ideas
of nothing, going nowhere. The frog shouts at
the pond, and the pond shouts back - yet only
they, in Nature's way, can understand each other.
I find that seems a lot like us. I really don't know
you, Marlene, but probably wouldn't if I could.