Shoes scrape the ground

 

 

I walk,
you whistle,
the air is living
like a fragile amoeba
and I can’t feel where my skin faces the world

It’s a matter of effort,
you said.
Whatever you try to do
gets done most easily
if you keep your eyes fixed on the end.

I’d rather drown
in this swimming world
than spend another day like this.

My shovel falls behind
as your shoes
scrape the ground.

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