Only now can you walk a road
into distant country, past a shrine
carved into the face of a mountain,
above a forest of alpine green.
Abandon this kitchen, this chair,
the rules you taped to the mirror
in the hall all those years ago.
Leave last night’s wine glass
in the sink and start walking.
Find a haystack to sleep on
for the night, and in the morning
cut a staff to match your step
and fit your hand. Let a child
along the road make you a hat
of woven grass. Leave the mail,
the shoes in the hall, the mysteries
of plumbing. Walk to the nearest hills
and find a loose horse to follow.
Walk so far from the mirror
on the wall that you forget
the color of your hair,
the look in your eyes,
the words of yesterday
stuck to the glass.
Image: Road in Häme (A Hot Summer Day), Werner Holmberg, 1860, oil on canvas, on display at Ateneum Art Museum
