The kick back of dust, momentarily realised her as particle. It crossed my mind that I no longer needed to say ‘I’, or only to describe a cul-de-sac, which could be travelled lengthwise and returned to undercover of she. The third person who caused crowd.

Happen it did. The time it takes to remember why, is the length of another life. I was still watching her wander on the spot. Juggling with left and right. Throwing truce to dexterity. One soiled handkerchief and pole later, frames a circular track and dust.

In case you were wondering she has strolled away. I see her back to back, it is really the only way forward. Against the overtime that in memory is far from over. When I asked her what she had to say, this was her answer: "

Time to grow a white beard
in the form of a flag
and chin wave.

To stumble this close
and no further, a hair’s breadth
away from raised arms.
The barber in me, won’t let that happen.”

But what had held them? Not knowing her own strength, invisible bounds roped twos together that could never be. A handstand changed her view. But at the elbow she was still at right angles. A hold: it was more stow than have, kept something behind, just in case.

In that pacing (performance rated) there were enough knots to tie her life up tight. It was a complication method, allowing somewhere more time to look further away. Just to say "I’ve arrived" didn’t announce enough difficulty.

And everything was easy by then, hands-free you might say. She wasn’t about to put them behind her back again, not now she knew what held them there.

She fell outside her surroundings to the suburbs of self. In the satisfied streets there was much to admire in pavement, even if convenience left a lot uncovered and cracks appeared long before everyone had finished walking.

6

The glare behind blindfolds gives light a measure of lime. Running right past imperfection just in case she was thanked by insight or squeezed at her soft spot. With emphasis in session, it was easy to feel surrounded.

16

Because her whisper remained unfinished, the soft and low of impact impersonated silence. Through a slit in her imagination she assumed unheard of heights in shadow clumsiness. Casting stifle on murmur.

5 x 3

Along a humid passageway
a hand obstructs my demands
it is not yours, and yet singled out
as I feel, any touch would leave impression
and divide skin from shield.

Keeping a collision untarnished
is like walking suspended from the ground,
any incomplete stride places
pressure on avoidance.