Forgetting the Moon
Walking for days
within this endless illusion of trees
stepping through damp, fallen leaves
shoes picking up crumbs of detritus
and than dropping them against
slippery, gray rocks.
I seem transparent to everything,
yet I feel heavy in presence,
as if a tourist hiding behind a camera –
My eyes a polished white,
glazed over by the years.
The striding ache pours into
me like the emptiness of another
vanquished hour
and still I wander in the dark,
looking past this moment to another
where the sky is blue and I am no longer lost.
