I am constantly moving backward -
Inward.
My mind is as vast as the Earth I
have seen so little of, the universe
that much less. In
Solitude and familiar places I
think, I wonder, I wander;
wandering physically, I exponentiate.

Moving forward, I move ten times
back. A percent
is an incomprehensible canyon.
A new person is questions,
explanations, unfathomable
rivers of simple thought.
A new setting is an ocean.

I am moving both forward and backward now.
Writing
is a tunnel
where one can see only a few feet ahead,
and paths reveal themselves like
bare skin, and these words
Burrow me into myself.

All I do is think.

All I do is move.