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This is where I went: there. Between
my backdoor and yours, and my thin
shoes and yours, and your thin
skin -- so like the skin beneath your
eyes -- and mine. A path began
to form. So slowly, and at first
not actually visible, but more
the memory of the path, of there.
 I stayed a while.
And then others
filed through, like geese
or all the feathers
from geese flown farther than you
would suppose or imagine them
capable. And what a path
was worn, between your blades
and my blazer. Hello, wide
blue yonder, you mum-
bled from under the covers.
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