Como se llama

First night shift back,
since part of my brain
decided to take its leave.
I am running.

The evening glorious, deep
blue sky slowly melting
as the golden molten sunlight
rains down. Fields of wheat
and barley jog by, for a split
second I convince myself
that I can see as Van Gogh did,
layer upon textured
divine layer.

God feels close, I know
he, she or it has to be here.
But my fear is too strong
tonight, to completely
surrender to vulnerability.

A llama appears in a field,
looking as though that is where
he has lived all his life.
I have no idea where
he came from, this being
Herefordshire.

In fact, in truth, I have no
idea where anything
really comes from.
I can pretend, like all of us,
but the true journey
of anything, its molecules
even? Come on.

This to me feels like courage,
but am I allowed to say
that? Or must I wait for
someone else to comment?

Either way, I’ve at least
turned up on time, which
has got to be
a good start.

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