My “Notes for Walking”
Early in the morning I found the telegramme
Whither your words took me, I could find no one.
I was still calling you God when I got lost following the right sign.
This poem, this poem wasn’t of mine. 
I saw your cell, your stone, your bed,
your pain, your blood,
your hopes and dreams
dried in a hook.
I wasn’t calling you God yet when I choose following the left sign,
the stillness, the wave, the sky, the water, the flower,
and the thought
I bought once for a penny
that
Every hour, every minute, every heartbeat, we are dying a little and living a bit.
photolicioux 