i have left my native homeland, and fled from the seasons.  i have torn from my eyes the sight of beautiful women, and stopped my ears with wax to deafen the sounds of music.  i have ceased to speak, and my face appears in the candlelight as chalk.  Though my lungs 
have held each year as a women’s breast, soft and yielding in the mid-afternoon’s sun, my thighs have opened, bursting at the orgasmic
release of dawn, naked and subtle and so very alive!  My legs have  ached from loneliness, my soles bled from the hundreds of miles taken in circles.  i am weak, and my strength is the thunderstorm of the moment.  i am weary, yet my vigorousness stalks the idle  hours as would a sparrow hawk her prey.  i am alone, and so join  hands with the millions. 

We are all foot travelers.