Touching every lamppost―
counting the buttons,
the palmer moved from
relic to relic,
from stone to stone.
Dipping the moon in dark
clouds, the pilgrim never
stops in night or day. To―
remain poor was his journey.
Shedding the stars,
blacking the sun, the ancient
script remains unread. No saviour
will come from land, in water
on hills. You love to dig
your own meaning.
Do not look back. It is
endless path. You fall and rise
stare at the slanting
eyes of unseen.