In the haze of dawn I walk through the valley reaping dust, then clamber up
the surrounding hills, where I open a path through the corpus callosum to
the other side of my mind.

Since leaving the flat gray streets of my East Coast childhood, I have lived
in the spirit of an exile who can no longer remember from where he came.

Then a stone in the shape of a shoe recalled to me:

The slow westward motion of more than I am.