When I stand up to walk,
I do not move away from you, my associates,
I am forever approaching, forever arriving.
I walk not because I have to be a distant,
Dust on the road,
Eyes of the past, heart of the iron,
The wind that blows the leaves in mazy motions,
Or a ghost that conspires your mind
To forget me, but because I have to arrive.
Places like talking eyelashes and lips,
Like hips and arms stretch out from the labyrinth of distance,
From the womb of memory housed
At another side of the tunnel,
And they welcome me and I have to move.
Roads that are but dust and distance wait
Miserably under the moon and the sinking stars,
They wait for me across the desert of time.
I know them all well enough.
But I do not leave you alone.
The further I move, the nearer I am arriving.
I arrive at the waiting spots with the dark ink of
My dreams that wrote on your dreams,
I arrive wet with the wine in your tongues,
I arrive with the blood full of you.
These eyes and lips that call me:
I shall not be with them too, nor will they.
We have to arrive.
Like empty distance, like space you shall
Wait like these spots somewhere.
And I shall walk toward you.
And the first step I walk further from you is one
Step nearer I shall have walked.
I am forever approaching