Easy she goes.

May the lame inherit my legs.

I am a traveller once more.
It's a small path:
no symmetry in the trees,
no arbours like their fathers wanted.
I've the abrasions characteristic of trespassers-
Limbs gnarled and uprooted.
But it's one, two, one, two.
And I trail on./


For real:

Lately I have been dreaming,
rousing mid-cycle.
I wake feeling that I've seen something I shouldn't -some one else's story.
Groggy, I try to resist.
No one likes an eavesdropper.

But still, I hurry back to catch the ending.