Cutting the air. Slicing existence.

Moving, for every step is a pleasure.

Feeling a drive from the force of it.

Being pushed by the ease of it.

To move through this world in which we live.

Shifting atoms aside. I walk with a confident stride.

At the height of my eighteenth year.

I have mastered the art of movement.

I step and slide to dodge and turn.

I can feel how easy this is.

Pick a point.

Tell your feet.

Set a fancy level.

Let it go.

You can move anyway you want.

To drag your feet is a shame.

For to be moving as gods incarnate.

That is the joy.

You must have a drive to go.

The legs to walk.

And the will to reach.