Question mark

You walk.
Your feet leave a soft imprint
in the sand,
of where you were;
a question mark
ending with your big toe.
Who are you?
You walk,
as if to catch yourself
but the faster you walk the further away you are
from your beginning.

Your guitar
points to the ground,
a water diviner
in the desert,
a question mark.
Who are you?
One day you will catch up with yourself.
But for now
you walk.