in the morning, he would walk East,
to feel the sun on his face and arms–
edging slightly closer to the star
from which all natural light came

the trees, too, greeted the day, capturing 
each hint of a breeze with their leaves,
as if a thousand small green hands
yearned to dance for the pleasure for the sun

Evan hummed when he walked, but
not loud enough to disturb the birds
who often shared their morning songs
with him–songs that bowed before the
majesty of this brightening bowl

his soft footfalls kept steady rhythm
as his heart pu-pummed its
syncopated dance and his lungs
filled like an organ bellows

Evan liked to read from the Bible
on his walks, especially the Psalms–
the sound of each page turn
a reminder that life kept moving
forward, that each step was further from home

his story would reach its final page one day
–perhaps this day, perhaps another–
but under a distant, unconstructed sky–
pale and empty of eye and ear
and touch and form