I like best walking these twisting roads
alone, the evening just beginning
to settle in, cars cooling along the curbs,
I like best getting lost when it's still
somehow a choice, one unexpected turn
leading imperceptibly to the next,
where I can think or not think,
carry my ghosts on either shoulder
without the slightest exertion.
I like best to hear the grasses exhale,
the leaves perform their fan dance
against a shifting cobalt sky,
breathe the fleeting breath of lilac,
their delicate wonder already receding.
I read the pictographs that the kids
have left upon the sidewalks,
small messages of hope and whimsy
more dependable than the street signs,
which seem to point randomly
into trees, yards, and roundabouts.
I have come to appreciate the beauty
of this unknowing, where almost
any path can bring you unexpectedly
home -- which is to say, right back
here, where you started from.
