Alessio Zanelli

The Walk poem
Upper Heads Lane above Bolsterstone, South Yorkshire, England

The Walk

The spool’s unwound,
the thread unwoven,
the weaver’s hands worn out,
the loom long frozen.

What’s left is just a road,
the one of a novel kind.
Weaving turns to walking,
non-spaced, non-timed.

The walk leads nowhere but to itself,
is not for usual flops,
takes more than simple years,
does not admit of stops.

First published in Poetry Salzburg Review (Austria)