On Foot

Who is this, or what, whose weightless
Shadow, walking, runs ahead, then
Trails, on the asphalt, grass, concrete,
Now this gravel I press underfoot?
Who and what? Some compound
Of generations gone – new things
Added, a transfer perhaps to others
To come – a being always in transition,
From and to, constant only in crossing
This or that roadway, kerb, paving,
Turning moment into moment, as
Corner after corner, to and from the sun.

And in this new daylight everything that is
Is visible, or so it seems. The colours
Thrown by every bush, stem, tree,
Blare like traffic, and the cars flower
In their turn – red, yellow, blue –
And pass in the same gathering festival
Of movement, of actuality. So much
Exuberance! Flowers, people, cars:
Every living, mobile, existent thing
Cavorts its moment of emergence
Into being – flashes its division
From darkness, its departing shadow.

So do I walk – matter amid the material –
And turn homeward. But there is, in me,
Something other, a living rupture
I almost heal, joining in feeling,
Perception, thought, all this renewing,
The general renouncing of the cold
And dark. Can the flickering of mind
Truly match this shifting play of light
On these new leaves? How bright it is
This morning! – catching all in stillness
And in motion, vivid oranges on one tree,
Small white blossom drifting from the next.

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