The man used to walk four miles a day,
two hours at first, less as he got stronger
and thinner, to defy the sense of rules that dictates
higher challenges as the ability climbs. Rebel
mind in a rebel body. Not even Plato’s
philosopher escaped the cave on logic alone.
He gutted. He fed the incipient. The machine
simply rumbled and smoked, but he refused
to stitch the causal quilt and rather slipped
into light quite unwrappingly, birthday
eyes all full of disbelief. But not belief,
for faith is logic-weaned, owes it the farm
where happening-onto is a stranger,
stranger than a broken plow, stranger than walking
off the great betrayal of the once loved.
Proof: all journeys are circular, emptying and deaf.