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.