I am the walker

Of cherished memories

And of sidewalks, hard

As calloused hands.

My steps thump bump

Along a stairwell of

Con-cur-eat or bee-tween

The forest of your

Emagination.

I am the dirtman.

The grass, it talks to me,

In Novem-em-ber.

When the brown clumps

Rise up and the dogs

Whimper… We are one-

Here- now, amidst the

Soft crunch crunch of shared

Dreams, we talk…but

Softly- so as not to

Get into trouble.

Who am i?

Me am i? I am me. Which

Is which in this topsey-

Tervy world of black-

And white?

Absolutely absolute.

But the grass, it talks to me,

In Novem-em-ber.

Brown and grey and green

Are tangled in a

Sea of choices.

The dogs howl and snarl.

Absolutely absolute.