footsteps

I don't like the sound of my footsteps,

When no one's around.

My mind rejects

That there could be only me

In this space, so empty and cluttered

With things alive but not living:

A single soul,

A singular presence.

Pulling away,

I feel myself drifting off,

Fading into the scene;

I am the trees around me,

Rough bark, rotting leaves.

I am the skies, sunk down in hazy mists,

Kissing every surface with cold.

I am among the crouching squirrels,

Among the rattling bushes,

Creeping down into the damp earth.

But my footsteps sound out still,

Not part of me;

They travel alone,

A ghostly entity

As they walk to nowhere,

From nowhere;

Mindless, just sounds:

Step,

Step,

Step.

Just pressure,

Just contact;

Souls on stone.

And my footsteps follow me home.