Focuses blur on an unseasonably warm January afternoon.


I lose track of things sometimes when I’m wandering
but my nails are rather long, I’m cognizant of that
and I feel the old break in my right ankle sort of
flaring up again. It’s not so bad though. It healed
all right the first time.

It’s a long list of even steps and then one suddenly
splashes through a hole that looked just like another
slick of ice, but my feet are fast, and while my cuff
is soaked, the shoes are barely even damp. Really, It’s
just fine, I promise.

The wind picks up every now and again and I consider
buttoning my long jacket back up, but I know the wind
will put back down and then I’ll be too hot again and
then where would I be, but the same place I was at
about twenty minutes ago?

Except I won’t be. I’ll be a little bit further down
the road, and a little bit wetter from the knee down,
and a little bit sorer from the right ankle over, and
just too hot instead of just too cold. It’s not the
same at all, really.

Now where was I? And where was I, anyway? I lose track
of things sometimes.
When I’m wandering.

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