Walking, Talking, Poking

Tracy K. Smith
Life on Mars

Let your fingers do the walking.

I think of your hands all those years ago
Learning to maneuver a pencil, or struggling
To fasten a coat. […]
At night, of the fingers wrangling something
from your nose, or buried in the cave of your ear.

Dog walking.
Give a man a stick, and he'll hurl it at the sun
For his dog to race toward as it falls. He'll relish

"Eggs Norwegian"
Walking on.
Perhaps one day it will be enough to live a few seasons and return to ash.
No children to carry our names. No grief. Life will be a brief, hollow walk.

"The Speed of Belief"
The genius lies not only in the control of the enjambement but also in the gestural carrying on and a sense of a constant contemplation. A walk through the hollow. A short walk.

And so for day 1590