wet feet

when my ears hear one sound of air
listening a small space apart
to stories of the past that mold
to melody
and words i sing
of my memory
of wet feet that didn't tremble at all
and the walk up that was worth the sit
and the reason i gave up the stick
and you held it,
i think.
now this.
this chance.
it challenged my growth,
confused listen and talk
and I read
I read the map the way I don't walk
and they dried!
why?
now i speak and i've looked through to the end
once again and
yet, now this..
is a part of the way?
not,
not the shot with the backdrop in front?
not the same song in my head or the stones?
not dirty?
then no!
I know!
I need to jump into the river and splash
and run.