Some people walk with their chest first,
hitting the world like bricks,
shattering all fourth walls,
heart first, body set back.
Some people chase their toes, body pushed back.
Walking is a game of Simon Says,
and all their toes have the same name.
So they wander the world guided by instruction.
I walk jaw clenched, palms tightened,
ready to strike the world should it hit back.
Until I walked with my eyes set forward,
toes perpendicular to my chest,
did I realise that I could traverse softly
along the planes of your outline.
Always shoulders hunched but spine pulled long,
you stride with a heavy handed gentleness;
arms and shoulders splayed open, eyes cast down.
How heavy your heart must be
to want to hold the world high up above an aching neck,
and curse the ground beneath your curious feet.
You don’t walk like the people I’m used to,
you move like a shy god in the body of a weary man.
So I strike the world back where it hit you,
take a step back, memorise your silhouette.
Then I will let you walk before me,
until your sightline becomes unbearably white,
and our distance stretches unbearably
far.
