Published in Stand 182
Each walk along this line of stone and glass
beggars me further. It seems as though there is nothing
to be done. You said you would break
from this bad attitude and I cannot blame you.
My footprints are quickly washed away and I apologise
for something before walking out again.
There is a hill of cloud, black as the day is bright. One more step
carries me through water and then without air
to the top of the sky. Pardon me, but I did not lose
my way. Pardon me, but the smell of incense
sat on the tongue like an unprescribed tablet,
you said. No, you did not say so. Still, swallow.
Now there are blisters and sweating. You and your master
can leave this town by a different route.
Here is another descent of rain. All the old pathways
are erased: then, the sun and the start of creation
brands new markings below. I think I hear
singing, if my ears can be trusted,
above the large, long roaring of the light.