the strung-along moments of my
Evening Walk (nothing special)
grow fat with foot after foot after foot
padding dully along pavement
wet
with melted snow
and i seem to have forgotten
to turn to my arm
and unhook my jacket
from its tucking away in the
crook
of my elbow
and when my half-bare arms
get prickly with goosebumped
hair on end, I quicken only the
thought of my pace, but my feet
remain
at constant tempo
to savor the smell of the
nighttime air is a simple Joy
of recognizing the fragrance of both
condensation and darkness
fruitfully
deep with nourishment
bravely drawing my eyes
forward at home and above the horizon
knowledgable feet remember my
pathways and staircases intertwined and
instinct
draws me home
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