SATURDAY MORNING

I walk for long periods of time these foreign streets
and think about serious things.
I walk for the painting on a blank canvas,
I walk for those things I cannot perceive
but I know they’re there, I walk
for the voice of the wind in the trees,
I walk to forget old feelings
and old forms of inspiration, for want
of a better word, I walk for the sound of fog
carefully everywhere descending,
I walk for that far off place,
I walk to open my book.

(20 February 2006)