Surely one day
I’ll roam the streets of Guadalajara
the way it befits them.
Now, bound by my feet,
subject to my senses that
influence more than just
the purposeless splash of colour,
the true sentence,
the unremarkable feeling or detail,
I recognize the irony
of being imprisoned within
my scaffold of convenience.
The way is long and unfamiliar,
as far adrift from the world
as my understanding of it,
and as free of inhibitions and restraints,
as I might never be comfortable with.