Sniffing
like a bloodhound
along
trails ripe with news
and
never looking up
for
direction, I never thought
there
might be a limit
until
I hit the end
of
the leash.
And
there they were,
fogs
and walls,
dank,
grey, nothing
about
them to suggest
an end to anything,
much
less, thought.
No
signs, no flaming bush.
how
simple, how easy,
to
surrender
to
the limit of the chain,
even
with a promise
of
a very, very long chain …
and
a collar
that
might not chafe.
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