Walking Directions

by Colin Dodds

A gull stalks its shadow.

The buffet table steams up the big glass doors.

The cars and buses pass silently by.


None of what has happened has been inevitable.

Improbability itself

may have been the rule.


Down a road made only for birds,

past towns haunted by trees,

through a city stacked like a stadium around a river,


my brief escape from nonexistence

brings me

to this bright place.