It was just a walk.
My feet took it in turns to be the one in front.
I was holding an open umbrella above my head
with my right hand because it was raining slightly.
Trees were stood up. Some were green.
Some were a bit green and a bit yellow.
There wasn’t much grass, to be honest.
The ground was mainly stones. Gravel, I guess.
I saw a bird, but I don’t know the bird names.
It was a black bird. But not a blackbird.
It was a bird that was black.
The air felt crisp and clean and wet.
I was one thousand years old.
The entire future was strapped to my chest.
A heart the size of a walnut punched mine
with a rhythmic strength I’ll never keep up with.
The breath of every dead relative whistled
through my ears and pushed me forward.
It was just a walk.

© Carl Burkitt 2020