going

I give back the keys
to that place
that does not belong
to me
and where I do not
belong
as I’ve learned.

I put on my shoes
and brush away the dirt that I left,
dipping my head
into ink
and wiping the slate
clean
with my wet, dripping hair
which I use to wash
your hallowed feet
fickle as birds.

I blink away the door,
rubbing my eyes until
there is nothing left
until the wall is empty,
the frame disappeared

and I step out to regain
my place among the crowd
walking slowly
from one place
to the next.

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going

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