Melbourne

I had learned that cities are made of dust / lineages cost
grief, worship asks for bloody hands and to find god you
look up. So I kept my head down, and got to work. Took
tram to the university, walked down street for groceries,
and lounged on park benches with my diary.
Wrote: Omelettes for dinner. Date tomorrow. Why are feet
derogatory but hands holy? Day-in and day-out, I did nothing
except take my body out into this old world for a run.
But today, quietly plucking flowers and leaves
from the back of my shoe heels again, I realise:
In this running from god, I somehow have ended
up finding him everywhere in this city.