slow life

every five of seven
i’m not ill
the pattern
the travel pattern

not the empty footpath
through grass
across a single tree meadow
in dry summer

this time
can i get
to the rabbit holes
among exposed dry roots
just by treading on the inlets
of path
of footstep wide at most
into the edge
of the dry green–yellow grass

a regular route
so familiar
that when i’ve nothing to consider
i have to create
the minor the most minor of challenges
just to be
just to mark my being

seven strides
a record
in such a time
a record
against myself
two days ago

but not that
not that at all
i’m in no meadow
i’m in no countryside

the five of seven walk
is the jangle
from metro line to metro line
out the train
in the corridor
up the escalator
up the steps
onto the platform
the other train arrives

and today
a very minor pride
i was the first
out of the train
into the corridor
up the escalator
up the

no i was not the first
up the steps
someone overtook

i have that to achieve
on another day
when i’m awake
with nothing to consider
with energy to use
another journey
of waste