Walker

so far so good
along the path.

brambles and
broken glass.

enough sting
to the stroll.

enough blood
on my ankles.

no view yet
of another end.

still, so far
so narrow.

wrong steps
are part of this.

falling
is de rigeur.

crawling’s
fashionable. 

drunk on nettles
and crowns,

I move along
now close to blind

from thorns
at my eyes.

still, so far.
good has little

to do with passage now.
it’s stubbornness.

I want to see
what destination’s

worth this.
worth scrabbling this long

and this far.  what good
comes of it.  what’s good

about it.
what it is.