leftover jasmine rice with peanut sauce, organic coffee, a banana
this is actually a haibun

Try to slip out of the house early without waking anyone. Sammy stirs when I reposition him in the bed, kid never sleeps in his own bed anymore hardly, but he drifts back off next to his mom, safe. Grab some shorts, socks don't even know if they match, sweatshirt Liza wants me to throw out, shoes, Discman, Dani Siciliano CD. Gone.

Hearing chirping birds,
tempted to ditch my headphones--
screw nature. push play.

Walking is the only thing I do for me. Okay that's a lie. But it's the only time I'm alone. Okay that's a lie too. I'm a bigger liar than Bob Marley when he said everything's gonna be alright. Everything is not alright, yet. Maybe it will be, someday. Maybe it already is, who knows, I don't know. All I know for sure is that Dani Siciliano has my back, and that there is freedom in walking alone at 5:45 a.m. on a Saturday. It's almost like last night never happened.

break into a jog
break into a lovely sweat
break away from me

This electro-pop pingponging around my head. This rabbit I've frightened, sorry little dude. This feeling that I stomp around my life, rending my garments, wailing, gnashing my teeth. This morning sun in my eyes. This woman in sweatpants with two dogs, we say hi. This disconnect. This pattern to my footsteps, sometimes on the beat sometimes not. This realization that it is the beat that is irregular, nice one Dani. This wallowing in sadness. This thing Jon said on Thursday. This wonderful wide world that admits the presence of ducks, that allowed Sammy Sosa and Moises Alou to go yard in the bottom of the ninth yesterday while my son Sammy and I watched on TV and cheered and high-fived each other, this earth with its myriad miracles. This song. My footsteps. This song. My footsteps.

I walk straight ahead
as the fog lifts in the park.
Nothing more to say.