I think about parameters, and yards
Neatly divided in rigid one-way paths
paved with stones from our mother's garden
carried one by one on our bare backs
Wisteria climbs overhead, carrying messages
From here to there to way and all over there
telling strangers how much they are missed
Still, one must follow the rigid one-way path
losing sight of all things new
Blind even to the nearby peril
I soldier on, I won’t give up, I do what I must do
Counting the steps, deaf to the siren
I have nothing left to fear, except
the wicked wire fence and the blood smear.