I think there’s been too much emphasis on original content in my life lately. I love it when writers tell me what moves them deeply, and share the work of those who’ve gone before. It means something to me, to see the footprints an author hopes to walk in, and follow to a point that rests beyond the far horizon.
I SHALL foot it Down the roadway in the dusk, Where shapes of hunger wander And the fugitives of pain go by. I shall foot it In the silence of the morning, See the night slur into dawn, Hear the slow great winds arise Where tall trees flank the way And shoulder toward the sky. The broken boulders by the road Shall not commemorate my ruin. Regret shall be the gravel under foot. I shall watch for Slim birds swift of wing That go where wind and ranks of thunder Drive the wild processionals of rain. The dust of the traveled road Shall touch my hands and face.