Leaving My Position On The Atlas

Leaving my position on the Atlas I walk across the surfaces No latitude but my legs and arms Swinging in one motion towards the East. Writing words I ignored until then, Carving a story I ignored until then, Embracing mountains dipped in mist One step, one hand ever closer to harm. Southeasterly winds blow off of the intended course And no medium sharper than vision To overwhelm distances with gusto; Hunger shall be dealt with later; Thirst quenched whenever needed But physical pain relished with pleasure, Every mile felt like a grain of sand Upon the back of my hand. Northwestern tides bearing me forth Squaring my shoulders against currents Drifting fleets of boats and cargoes away. Paying no heed but to my thoughts only For the time being. I intend to follow my instinct. And no more lessons. I intend to follow the dragonflies. Goosebumps riddling my skin And ask no more but for the sea, the sea, The moon, the winds, the tides And bursts of life throbbing, Pulsing like a vengeance through my veins.

© Copyright Rodolphe Blet