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June 21, 2002 - 12:17 pm


don't think of me as you walk away
with your head bent.

imagine your eyelids as shields as you walk.
imagine they're growing; they're separate from you.
they're umbrellas pointed into the wind.
feel the air move across them,
move around them,
cooler than the rest of your face.

feel your eyelashes light on your cheeks.
feel your eyelids crease,
fold into themselves,
as you look up.

feel the door handle in your hand.
feel how naturally, how thoughtlessly, you pull open the door.

feel the sunshine cling red on your eyelids,
your cheeks,
your shoulders.

watch your feet.
notice how the ground arches and bends under them as you walk.
imagine the earth moving under you
as you stand static,
as if perched on a giant ball.

feel the ground through the soles of your shoes;
the gravel, the cracks in the pavement.

why is it that no one thinks of the way pavement feels through rubber soles?

think of this.

but don't think of me as you walk away
with your head bent.