Walking – New Poem (1st Draft)


I have been walking all night,

but it is not yet time to go home,

holding my shadow, for I know

I’ll only trip over your silence.


The forest floor is squashy with damp,

like walking over a child’s wet finger painting.

My pack is lumpy with lunchtime provisions.

I want to bury them, eat berries from the bushes.


I want to duck down on all fours, and lap

clear, cold water from the fast, small stream.


There is a deer. We watch each other,

her delicate jaw moving in a circular motion.

She turns her white behind on me,

and moves away, unhurried, unafraid,


and I walk further, higher. I leave the path.