We Keep Walking

Along the path, walking so nervously
searching in the darkness for
some signs of footprints of
past persons plodding along in
a similar fashion to mine

The edge of the trail is
more of a fading off and
a splitting at points that
makes me wonder if I
still remain on the trail or not

Stopping at the forks my
mind meanders down the trail a
ways until it fades of as
if it was a mistake or
as if another animal made it

But there seems to be a point
that you ask yourself if any
of these are trails at all but
just some patches of padded plants that
have been placed there as worldy dreams

Dreams of people ordering themselves
Dreams of reasons creating order
Dreams of ideas put in motion

Then I stop and realize that
this is just the way things happen and
trails can seem to be where only animals once
trolled about and wind softly
pressed plants into chasms and canyons

for us to attempt to
walk through
until we find the
end and
remember
their
order-
less-
ness