CIRCLING
I’m always in the habit of looking down
When I walk—as if, staring straight ahead,
I could miss something happening just
Below. But what can my feet ever tell me?
Perhaps that these shoes, so well used,
Have soles worn past their dues? Yet
It seems inevitable that a walk should come
To this—a moment of quiet epiphany,
When the chance points of my departure
And my arrival turn in on each other and
I realize I’ve been circling the whole time.
Maybe it’s a healthy sort of feeling to trust
This walk, having started with something new
In mind, might still end like all of the others.
Unpublished Poem
Spring 2004
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