On Foot

If home be my destination, you are the voyage:
The walk from sky to earth.
The barefoot trek on pebble gravel.
The journey that grows weary with energy.
The adventure on calm bullets of inexplicable silence.
The trip to prove functionality on a fatal Tuesday morning.
The crossing on brick-red stone smooth like water.
But water flows like the feast of starvation down through each bloated vein.
The refreshing expedition to familiar dread.
The travel designed for the traveling rather than the destination.
And before expected, home is where the journey ends.
Sand and dust;
Soil and dirt;
Scars and dreams;
Memories and footsteps never liberated—
Attach ingrained to the soles of the worn-out sneakers…souls?
Know that the road on which it pressed later absorbs footprints of immovable weight, of companionship and cheerful comraderie.

Voyager lost at the end of the voyage.
Yes, if home is where the voyage ends, you are the voyage and I the vessel at sea.

Iris Zhang, Dec09

You always seem to know where to find me and I’m still here behind you
In the corner of your eye.
I’ll never really learn how to love you
But I know that I love you through the hole in the sky.

Where I see you
And that’s not an invitation
That’s all I get
If this is communication
I disconnect
I’ve seen you, I know you
But I don’t know
How to connect, so I disconnect

Communication, The Cardigans.


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