In a haze of dawn I walk through the valley reaping dust, then clamber up
the surrounding hills, opening a path through the corpus callosum, to the
other side of my mind.

Since leaving the flat gray streets of my East Coast childhood I have lived
in the spirit of an exile, who can no longer remember from where he came.

Then a stone, in the shape of a shoe, recalled: The slow westward motion
of more than I am.