The Gleaner's Walk

Poem - The Gleaner's Walk

The road is not a road. It is a line of things that fell.

A button. A bottle cap. A glove with the palm worn through.

The road is not a road. It is a catalogue of what was carried and what was not worth carrying back.

I walk it anyway.

A feather. A receipt. A key that opens nothing I have ever owned.

The road is not a road. It is a list I am making by walking.

A stone with a hole through it. A photograph bleached to sky. A shoe that fits no one.

I pick them up. I put them in my pocket. I keep walking.

The road is not a road. It is a sentence I am writing with my feet.

A coin from a country that no longer exists. A piece of string. A wishbone.

I do not know what I am collecting. I only know that when I stop the road will be empty and I will be full.

The road is not a road. It is a door I am walking through without stopping to open it.

A bell that does not ring. A letter with no address. A handprint in the dust.

I do not look back. The road is not a road. It is the shape of having gone.