Places I have stepped
Puddle and pour inwards
Like memory retreating.

Unfolding and flooding
My instincts,
Finding future footsteps
To be dented
Over land, under water,
Steadily repeating.

Widely I walk
Filling the horizon,
Flung out like wishes
Outward and upward and
Into myself.
Tip-toeing, tipped-treading,
Foot after foot slamming
Echoing across the night-time ceiling,
Expanding. 

Waves
Shushing, welcoming
A suddenly still intruder.
Crouching, washing
Hands then face,
Chilling to the touch, biting to the taste.
I push a little more
Into the crouching reflection
Of the martyr
Below me. 

Exhale, and stand. 

Alone but not lonely,
Unknown and unneeded if only
For a moment, selfish as murder.
But reality rushes like bitter water,
A sharp-shock-smack
Of brutal-loving-life. 

An intruder tipped-treads back, familiar
To Eden’s ruins and Heaven's children.