i imagine myself, out there, long sleeping under a darker sky than this one, long dreaming of snakes and bushfires and the things that i might lose myself to. i imagine the way in which my legs would make a shape of themselves, against the earth and for it, the way that steps would become steps. i imagine the things i would encounter, on the long path over things, around the little blockages i had put in the way. i wonder if i would find a piece of myself, a heart perhaps, or a little severed finger, laying there, as if waiting. i wonder if i would think that i had planted it there for myself, as if this, all of this, was the path to a place i knew i was going. i would wonder then, if there were any accidents at all, and if sorrow was ever a conclusion to come to. i would wonder if there was anything i didn't know or couldn't change and then i would answer in a whisper to the held out hand of the world.