This is a poem about isolation.
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Eyes fixed to the ground, watching
the alternating movement of the feet,
mesmerizing, and the mind drifts and opens
as thoughts rush in and out
or linger and dwell, provoking movement
in its deepest abyss:

It’s cold, the wind is drying my skin,
I wonder what time it is, I might be late.
I wish he would talk to me.
I wish I could talk to him.
I wonder if he ever wanted to talk to me.
I wonder if I could have done anything.
I wish I could have said goodbye.
I hope he’s enjoying the sunshine.
I’m so afraid of death,
So afraid
of loneliness in this vast life.
I can’t make a difference;
I’m nothing but an infinitesimal speck
whose lifetime is nothing but a memory,
small as a grain of desert sand,
in the infinity of time.
So helpless
So powerless
So hopeless
in this cold and lonely world.

These thoughts blind the vision.
Though the eyes look, they do not see.