same-ness

Stalking the morning, I tumble down from sleep.  I find my still feet chilled in my shaking palms and wonder if I’m of use anymore.  Of use.  Of used orientation.  One chases the other who chases another who in turn is chasing me.  My toes are shrinking from too much pavement dogging.  The tread of my existence is worn.  Does the dog ever catch his tail?  Is this a closed loop system?  Heartbreak, seizure, seize the system, break the chain.  The dog sits and licks his paws all bloody with want, want, want.  I soak my feet in a river whose frost does not bother me.  My feet have no feeling of other, they know not the line where water meets skin.  Then I realize the adage is wrong.  We’re always stepping in the same river because "the river" is an illusion.