He took a step.
I thought about a suspension bridge,
How you can’t help but hold the rope.
You see the planks, then the rocks below
and sight doesn’t save you from shaking.
I asked where he was going.
I wondered, can one speak without words spoken?
Through motion, a dancer in an empty room.
Was that why the music played behind him?
Have I always been so still?
A few feet from the entrance.
He replied, "can you take me?"
I thought of water.
A raindrop's journey from river to yawning sea.
How it flows in such singular fashion,
no moment you can point or divide.
It begins as it arrives.
I narrate my actions.
Verbalize what the eyes sleep through:
We're almost there. I am opening the door.
It's to your left. You have arrived.
My voice is for me.
I am walking myself as I walk with him.
He is patient in my stumbling.
When he leaves I think,
I'd like to take steps like him.
But my hand has to let go
There are just too many rocks.
