portals wooden hide me
from this great outdoors wanting
my majestic footsteps upon its bosom
each step saintly, again,
as i did.
this chair rocks me, uncontrollably.
the vane of which i winnow myself with,
profusely and obsessively,
cools the sweat beading on my brow,
letting the aged droplets fall onto my eyes.
and i blink.
tasting the salty water stream,
my eyes close in inevitable retreat.
bethink they were fallen tears
of past footsteps,
i wipe them away still.
and the great outdoors rain
upon me, for my refusal to take
one more step.
i sit and watch and think and then:
when time comes for the rain
to become frozen and still,
and soaked deep down into the clay,
i wouldn't have anything
left to wipe away.