All right then, I'll go. And when I get back, I will play with my dreams.

The way of it, the whole closed circle with the close rank interior so repels me that I turn the other way because maybe walking it backwards will suffice to open interest in it, let the downs be up and up down. Having broken that first essential pattern I begin to make choices on avoidance, a woman and her two dogs clog the way and so I choose to go on further rather than turn. I cross the street to avoid passing the couple and their strolling cigarette. I let myself keep to the broader external circuit until I realize it's all down hill from there and I've missed all the up downs that stir my breath so instead of heading straight home, I cut back in and give myself to the climb in which I find my heart.

There is the rushing under the manhole cover. And there the porch with it's glitter rug flung over the railing and the inked sign on the front door: NOT AN ENTRANCE.

The grey squirrels nose the lawn. The child's grey jeep noses the redbrick corner of the apartment building. Rain-felled crepe myrtle flecks the walk magenta. Empty green newport packages, 2 of them before I reach the first corner.

I forgot to say my prayers.