When can we stop for a break
She asks
When we are neither
Here or there
I reply
What a curious riddle
Perhaps it means
In the middle
Our feet are tired and dusty
Our heads throb
In the heat
We have been walking
And pacing
For far too long
Round and round in circles
She sings
In a way it is soothing
Like following a pattern
Or singing the chorus
Of a song
I like singing
She whispers
Taps the toes
Of her shiny shoes together
Her hand reaches for mine
And I stroke her tiny fingers
Let's say this is our way station
Sit down and rest
That sounds like a very fine plan indeed
We both take a deep breath
And lean into the cool walls.
