The cold has cracked the fence of the low A,
the fence I used to peer through, wondering what
the lands beyond were like. The gap is wide
enough to enter—I hardly notice the edges—
and the soft earth of A-flat welcomes me.
Without thinking, I start to run, downhill,
rolling the last few yards and sprawling out
on a cool, grass-covered G-natural.
The sun is shining here, glinting off
the flakes of F-sharps in the rocks along
a river bank. On rising, I look across,
wade through, and strike out perpendicular,
curious now how far from home I’ll get
before the weather changes. After a time,
the grass gives way to rocks, then dust, and then
the great golden expanse of F. Strangely,
I walk the desert without the feel of heat,
neither the sun nor sand sharp upon
my bare head, bare feet, walking into dusk,
the dark of E-natural slowly wrapping
around me like a cloak. I make my camp
beneath a towering rock pillar of
pure E-flat, cool, solid, and comforting.
It’s far enough for now. In the morning
I will climb my deeply towering friend and look
out over the miles towards the plains of D,
look back to home. I will sing a traveling song
of exploration and of homecoming.
My voice will fill either the sky or the ground,
and I will follow it.
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