There’s a reason
truth is always around the next bend

our eyes were made curvy
but see straight ahead best

we’re addicted to the turns
that guide our stride

it’s like unrolling a globe
on a table and sailing the four corners

it’s nice keeping up
with hipster mythology.

I came home and mixed some mayo with tuna.
It was good.
I walked the 70 feet to the mailbox mindfully.
It was a gift.
I swallowed errant love words else I lose myself.
I do not need twelve ingredients for a sandwich.
I do not need a paved road.
I still need simple touch.

I sat quietly, writing this for a few moments.
There was no boomerang.
I was safe.

avoiding sudden movements,
keeping to the wall,
heel-toe, heel-toe

past sins ricochet
and I am powerless to make it slow

her legs, his hands
and a world of mountains
and melting glaciers to track

she was his flower
and I am a well-thumbed paperback

Unshielded
for a mere breath,
I stopped chasing wind
and listened
to the song of trees,
their wild roots
reaching below
and their branches
singing above.

Despite attempts at walking softly,
I was always to be a knight,
armor in place, inevitably.

While repeating steps,
it’s not the same
because I think I blinked
the first time
and missed your soft look
before the indifference
and I may have misunderstood
the glancing blow
that came after;
it’s possible
this is all as meaningless
as the sages said
and I’m imagining whole worlds
in our touch
that will never exist.