No, no music but the heave
of your heart as you trudge

on this cracked pavement
of a path that is your past

and future, the healing blisters
better than the gashed

memories that drip-drip-drip
Hansel-and-Gretel style

along this asphalt of survival,
which is some hope, yes,

that one-foot-in-front-of-the-other
platitude the real work of the living.

A road is a road is a road
leading somewhere not here

while each toe and heel dream
the unreal threshold: cool grasses, 

still waters, glorious gates
of beautifully broken pearls.