The Extra Step

By Cliff Lake

 

The Extra Step

 

Those almost winter afternoons,

The air a bit too crisp.

The traffic swallowed by silence.

Everything echoes.

Nothing muffled by leaves long fallen,

Long collected,

Long blown into gullies and hedges uninhabited.

Only your footsteps sound,

A staccato amplified and repeated among darkened houses,

Not yet lit against the night.

The cold sharpens the edges of racket,

Too loudly do you hear your breath,

Your footsteps.

The sun seems to speed to the horizon now.

Things may begin to bend.

 

It is the twilight time.

The not-dark. The not-light.

It is the indistinct time.

It is the slip-shadow time.

It is the maybe time.

It is not your time.

 

There!

The extra step.

It falls out of sequence.

Your half-turn does not reveal,

Only causes you to step out of sequence,

It is imperative to regain the rhythm.

 

A little faster now? Yes?

Is that wise?

Is that necessary?

You know these paths, these streets,

What is there to fear?

 

The extra step.

Dismatching your rhythm,

Your echo,

No longer all yours.

The extra step.

 

No more half turn,

If you stumble, will you fall,

Or will you be caught?

The extra step.

You stop.

 

 

 

 

Is that your breath you hear?

How will you know?

It is the maybe time.

The slip-shadow time.

It is not your time.

 

Is it your time?

 

The twig snaps!

You whirl and a dog scampers home,

Late to its supper.

Shake off the jitters,

It is just the half-light that has you this way.

You start your walk and

The extra step.

 

But there was nothing behind.

You saw there was nothing behind.

Or were you watching the dog?

Do you turn now?

Do you march straight on?

Do you stop listening?

The extra step.

 

You turn.

 

This is the doubting time.

Do the shadows move?

Or was it just the one?

You check for breezes you know are not there.

Where is home?

Not far.

Not near.

Not near enough.

Turn back toward it,

You will see nothing exact in the slip-shadows.

 

You turn for the extra step.

It is there.

It will be there.

You long for the streetlamps,

But it is not their time.

It is not your time.

 

Is it your time?

 

You walk again.

You and the extra step.

 

Is it your time?

One way or another,

You will find out.

 

Cliff Lake 12/5/2022

Copyright © Clifford Lake 2022.

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