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.
