1. JOURNEYSTake the thickest socks.Wherever you’re goingyou’ll have to walk.There may be water.There may be stones.There may be high placesyou cannot go withoutthe hope socks bring you,the way they hold youto the earth.At least one pair must be new,must be blue as a wishhand-knit by your motherin her sleep.*Take a leather satchel,a velvet bag and an old tin box –a salamander painted on the lid.This is to carry that small thingyou cannot leave. Perhaps the keyyou’ve kept though it doesn’t fitany Jock you know,the photograph that keeps you sane,a ball of string to lead you outthough you can’t walk backinto that light.In your bag leave room for sadness,leave room for another language.There may be doors nailed shut.There may be painted windows.There may be signs that warn youto be gone. Take the dreamyou’ve been having sinceyou were a child, the onewith open fields and the windsounding.*Mistrust no one who offers youwater from a well, a songbird’s feather,something that’s been mended twice.Always travel lighterthan the heart.