WHILE WALKING
While walking in this one park I am a shadow;
a poor portrait of myself, a ghost in shades. While
I stretch to pace - one pale foot in front of the other -
I have to think : for each step's duration and in between,
a million and more things have transpired. Worldwide.
Deaths and changes, births and happinesses. How
fearsome is this avalanche of things.
-
Nearby and over one, some person practices dancing
while another seemingly rants. I hear something as
I pass - criminal stuff, of 'Life' as an ass, the mixing
of races and that hate that goes with it. I can't figure;
his head is way too busy for me, let alone his mouth.
-
In just that moment, I can safely bet, forty thousand
hand-held moments crashed together. For others - those
who may have just cashed out or saw a brother or bought
that car and house and lost another and kissed their friend.
Nothing more to this than a natural patter; I cannot pretend.
-
If any of this is more than that, then tell me: the baby just
born cleft of palate, or deaf or blind. The hundred-year
old woman falling down and crying out, the soldier, now
pierced again by a piece of unseen lead. Oh so much
amasses everywhere - and with these we are led, past
stanchions of goodness and fountains of dread. Please,
I ask you now, just please, take this weight
and carry me home.
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