New shirt. New shoes. New continents.

Who will care if the answer wasn’t in you when you started.
Who minds that you made it up.
Improvised as footsteps on stones across a running creek.
Write the wobble. Write cold water halfway up your calf.
Pouring in the open mouths of shoes around your ankles.

Write until you grow numb and blue. Keep walking.
New people. New conversations. New problems.
New shirt. New shoes. New continents.

No trail where you walk.
Make a mess of it anyway.
Write it urgently.
All the time in the worlds you write is yours.
Yours alone.

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