listen to me.
no, listen to me.
go out. find the longest, emptiest stretch of road that is also closest at hand; at this hour on this day, no one sane or heart-whole or sober will be wandering the streets, and anyone else will be too lost in their worlds to bother with yours.
now, close your eyes. now walk.
it's one foot in front of the other; it's simple. easy arithmetic like the math of one plus one equals two-- except with your eyes closed complications set in and one plus one can equal none, or one, or broken twos.
close your eyes. walk.
everything is heightened. the road is texture beneath your feet-- the grit rough against your soles, the metal grilles smoother. grass is knobby and lets you know you're veering off-course. the wind is exceptionally affectionate-- it weaves airy fingers through hair, touches forehead, trails down arm. and light-- oh the light-- light has a heft and weight this way. shadow and light alternate as they slide across your face, inexorably roll down your cheeks, and you can feel the difference as you linger and break through each end zone to the next.
close your eyes. walk.
they have a chart and graph
of my despondency
they want to chart a path
to self-recovery
and want to know what i'm thinking
what motivates my mood
to spend all night in the backyard
staring at the stars and the moon
maybe i was made this way
to think and to reason and question and pray
and i have never prayed a lot
but maybe there's a loving god
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