Walking is like br imagination, a br single step br dissolves the circle br into motion; the eye here br and there rests br on a leaf, br gap, or ledge, br everything flowing br except where br sight touches seen: br stop, though, and br reality snaps back br in, locked hard, br forms sharply br themselves, bushbank, br dentree, phoneline, br definite, fixed, br the self, too, then br caught real, clouds br and wind melting br into their directions, br breaking around and br over, down and out, br motions profound, br alive, musical! br br Perhaps the death mother like the birth mother br does not desert us but comes to tend br and produce us, to make room for us br and bear us tenderly, considerately, br through the gates, to see us through, br to ease our pains, quell our cries, br to hover over and nestle us, to deliver br us into the greatest, most enduring br peace, all the way past the bother of br recollection, br beyond the finework of frailty, br the mishmash house of the coming & going, br creation's fringes, br the eddies and curlicuesbr br Archie Randolph Ammonsbr br