I have carried this shoe forever
since this morning on the trace,
down the falls, over the trail
understanding nothing, a little.
a tennis shoe left in the trailside--
an unpagan vernacular, flotsam
in the world flowing through the world
confirming nothing of the illusion but the illusion,
the opposite of "to listen" without listening
to something for
It is not my shoe.
It is my shoe.
Everything oneness
as a Word cannot understand
the voice that utters it.
Experience as a verb,
comunion and consumation
impinging on awakeness
searching for a fit,
a union of travelers.