the rite of walking 52907June 2, 2007
All years pass to his sum
And this is a sum of parts
Like each step part of a journey
And each step gone forever.
Frivolous are the daily routines
Our little rosary on telephone wires
“Hello, land office, this is,”
Our little litany, our little communion
Every little part, part of.
Every little day, in robes.
Even in the thick late spring,
we, I, priestess, don the robes
Bent to objectifying truth, all in the small things.
I, the priestess, don the velvet, heavy on me,
Thick on me,
And trace again the steps of the day before, today
a little better than before.
Bit it is so cold, even here.
Even after all the small parts
Each particle assembled
Even after all this time in the litany
And giving day after day.