
I hear the wind whip
the leaves in the distance behind me
unable to stay steps ahead
I lose ground with each stride
my gait grows shorter
slower and wavers
I reel
as a drunken lover
lost her way
points to the music
finding it’s there
not there
once reminded
twice branded
enough left
to right the path
thankful for the swerves
in-line with the stagger
the wind catches me
races up my back
a violent eddy of debris
at my feet
deals a blow
two hands smack flat my ears
pains, clears my mind
to say
walk it now
just die alone
and I’ll hear nothing more
about it
© Chagall, 2013
