Walking in search for no voice in particular,
staring at brick pavement and observing
how my feet lift alongside my legs.
Steam drifts from the cup on the bench,
as the book drapes its covers
alongside sun crisp hands.
I look into the shining sky
even though the clouds are gone.
Though my two eyes squint as I gaze upward,
I find it all the more jubilant
to see through golden light.
Fumbling through crumpled papers
to have a laugh at how lines and stanzas
faces, falls, seasons, sounds and lost thoughts
all blur into a single sentiment
which carries itself on my back
whether I dare to turn around or not.