empty

a pilgrimage
I say
You are now a pilgrim
they respond
I wonder
What is my identity?
Beyond the words and no words
there is nothing more to speak of
there is Nothing
and in there
I rest
behind the oaktree
on the hills
the blackberries
my forehead on the red soil
tired feet in the crispy morning mist
churchbells ringing
I wander off
a new day
ten billions new moments
seconds to pass
The sun rises
and in my stomach a fire
something's glowing
My eyes
they say
It might as well be Yours