Another Word

I am winded
by our walking towards
all things unknown,
one foot
the other
a breath
then another
and each step is its own walk.
We mark our pants and back
green or red or black or simply
wood-stain brown with freshly attended
park benches when our stomachs are to much to carry.
Other times it is our shoes
and the bottoms weighed down
with salmonella,
road-tar,
gum.
It is always something
and then a something's something
until our lives are family trees
of debilitation.
But I walk
and some days
not so angrily
and most days I wish I could find
another word
but redemption
will do for now.