Strolling the Surface

One continues to walk
until one cannot walk.

One's pretentions hold
as long as it takes for
an answer. 

Mouths are an expression
of personal oneness.

I am walking south
until the forest burns.

Each step crushes
another memory,
replaces the stored pictures
with another flammable tree.

You are running.
Speed will get you 
nowhere fast.

A coordinated plane 
of geography will offer the map
to start the blaze.

And the hidden earth
is the happy earth
safe in the knowledge
that depth outlasts life.