Leaning towards
the Southeast
take a step.
Something rests there.
Reach an open

hand into the fabric
and feel what
comes flowing up
out of the ground
to fill it. Take another

step and then another
eyes turned to where
cirrus clouds hang high
and cold in the
Northwestern sky.

Each step naturally
smaller and slower
than the last.
After proceeding
in this way for some

time it would be
hard to say I was
walking at all. Nor
could I really be said
to be standing still.