Forward of a kind, any kind,
Is best.
But when I stop
I itch and stir
And scrape and scratch
To start again.
To the borders!
To the very edges!
Right up to the horizon
And into the sun.
If there is no one to follow
I will be fine
Just let me go.
If no one comes
I will hardly notice
Just let me lead
--Even a march of one.
Because as long as I am walking
I am not here.
Here or there.
Both are places
Of static and station.
We who are always leaving
Hold neither.
And neither will ever hold us.
Move and breathe.
Walk and keep on walking.
Walking. Walking. Fading.
