Escape Broom

Will I brush myself
Off my unstable feet
Deeper than yards
Goes the silt in
This river
As my contours
Change and demand
The shift in
The corresponding
Environment:
Take me someplace
Else, I write to me
In a letter from
The morning, the 
Stream of conscious
Memory, or mind, or
Something like that
Pointing south? Or
North? Or Finnish?
The where does not
Seem to matter to
The spirit of 
Redirection; this
Ghost will rattle
The windows
Until the trees
Outside are
Different