Thursday, June 11, 2015

ODS BODIKIN

Waking up—we walk
and walk and walk

up endless silent flights
of steps—to meet 
and take 

and lift 
ourselves up 
as terrified—little gray children; 

perhaps, the first time,
gravely shaking 
hands to show how

there's no 
spikes now—
nor were 
there ever;

and then—still without speaking, 
clasping close

the child's
little 
folded fingers 

inside our big palms,
which are warm
and soft 

and quite
a bit steadier—
than even we
had been expecting. 

And then we place ourselves 
down carefully
on the ground,
and we just 

keep walking. And that is
absolutely all. 
Walking and nothing 

else 
at all. Except; maybe—it's worth re-
iterating 

how—the entire time,

neither one of us
does any talking.

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