Walking

To my friend,
a soul,
a path,

Peter,
always with me, alive, walking.

At this chess game that I offered him,
and that he gave me back,
he pointed to these four horses,
the biggest figures of the game

again
again
again

again
to walk again
again

still to transfer
to someone
to anyone
at
nobody.

When this walk
will
never end.

When this walk
will
end.

His words, again
His sword, again
with me,
at walking

forever.

‘ Walking is to release

the ground

and find oneself

suspended

if only for a moment

in mid air,

an act of faith,

trusting the earth

will still be there,

trusting when we land

we will not fall

endlessly through,

but be caught

as in mother’s arms.

The daring and craft

of a trapeze artist,

ancient wisdom of the child

who knows that falling is part

of the standing strong,

part of the learning,

and makes a game

of „London Bridge“,

tumbling into laughter,

into mastery.’

(‘Walking’ – Peter Cumberbirch)