so many hands.

I find myself beginning with "so where do we go from here?"

There's so much interest in knowing the future, so much obsession with finding The Path.

Breaking up the scar tissue and pulling apart what makes the body taught, I find a new sense of purpose. My fingers relax one by one until all pieces of Past are fallen by my feet. It's a start.

Now we walk.

Careful not to slip trip tumble, we crunch orange leaves of memories and prickly sticks of old regrets. I want you to take my hand, but if I tell you, you'll just nod and say you Will. So I push my tongue between rows of teeth, against the back of my lips, and I smile small.

Hello New Day. Hello Yellow Morning.
He greets the rising sun like it was his own Mother. I can't do the same. We don't have that in common.
Hello Today. Hello Mellow Mourning.
He just thinks I'm sweet and funny, nods, and reaches still toward the sun. I just burn. I think, "I burn for him."

Where do we go from here?
No answer.
Now we walk.