Detour

I haven’t floated in the sea
The sun hasn’t burned my flesh
My tongue has forgotten the sweetness of fruits
In what feels like a decade
Yet the noise,
The noise has always made me anxious
Whether in the west or east
The noise of the passing wheels
The noise of the pressing mind.

I haven’t floated in silence
The cold has penetrated my skin
My tongue has detected the blandness of snow
In fact, of everything white
Yet the color
The color always comes out
In moments of distress, in shifting of shapes
The color of the leaf remains true
The color of my skin stands out
The color of the light reveals
What calls to be persevered.

Because there is always something, something
To hope for
Perhaps a ray, many times a generosity
Always, always a space to be
If only you take
Another step.