teeth chattering and
(the colors around me often
so bright and strong as to
give me chills, and startle my sight).
Muscles ache and bunions complain,
but these feet know better than to
(Oh, I cannot wait for the good haven.)
I stride forward broadly,
brave and bowlegged.
My ear is accustomed to
(even through this constant motion):
it is listening for the right
- or perhaps, perhaps
it is my head waiting ever for the pillow
which will whisper,
It is safe now, finally,
I walk, warm and fluttering,
I, who am always longing for
the sighing closed of sleep,
and the trembling open of love.