We are small,
the smallest stone
in a field of stones.
Huddled in a tiny
interior, lit by black.
Walking only where
stilts are safe.
Somewhere, the black
and the light meet.
A fusion of the two.
Dividing man from man,
and woman from woman.
This is the silence of living,
and a changed skin.
This is the way.
A Wandering Poet 