• Vol. 07
  • Chapter 06


We will not follow the markers.
We do not bend the contours of our desires to any map.
We cannot go when others go, content to match footsteps in a dirt jigsaw.

Abandon the tarmac, the gravel, the railing.
We are the first ghosts to fall across the forest, the fields,
where the only direction is openness
and horizons lie second to unbroken ground.

As water finds its own path
before it becomes aware of the sea,
we too step without plan or fear:
a floor dense with pine needle
grass past the knee
and buttercups staining your shoes;
where your reward is a hiding spot,
a dead fox, a puzzled cow,
an unseen tree,
impassible and plausible.

We have no route to retrace
and the car park is a dream we might refind
the next time, or past the next bend.
Right now, we are walking
in the importance of detachment.