Walking Again
       

Every day there was the world, among
The many bodies that made the crowd,
The many souls that made the bodies.

If I maneuvered with a cane, or as if with one,
Hurried children looking not at me
Would ram together on collision course,

Then part like leaves of a book to be read.
But really they just flowed past
In a stream of thoughtlessness.

Every day there was the world, among
Its downpours and barrages,
If I would only walk outside to meet it.

No one in the crowd was waiting for me.
But the world was waiting, an eager lover.
The crowded world was waiting. I walked outside.

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Copyright © 2012 Mark Jarman All rights reserved
from Hayden's Ferry Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission