Walking Poem by Henry Antony

I send up scatters of bees before me as I wander over flowers
Grass and petal and soft-morning moist in the treads of my shoes
Time the stern-faced doctor, prescribes tranquillity,
Mournful as Indian summer and regrets.
Shoe honed slick with grass perspiration,
The simple dance. The memory lack.
The noon race to inspired.
The fight and fall and follow back to black sky nights.
Grieve the soldier blades of grass as I sweep on,
Oblivious strung-high matter no matter or mind paid
Downwards. Sleepwalk and dreamtalk and pay my
Mobile homage to sunrise and hopeful.