Stride for stride,
you
and I
just go
walking
sometimes—
past paper mache
trees and
shoebox buildings,
often silent
for indefinite-
ly
long stretches of time;
though
not exactly.
Not really,
since—
mutual intent
and fealty
and faith
that every routine
will eventually
eat its own tail,
and an
unwavering confidence
in the indefinite,
and yet—
in the truth
that must exist
in the direction
of every single,
individual step—that
itself—
does all
the talking.
