Cold Bare Feet


there can’t be anyone else following you or me
the landscape turns on it’s back and says hello
mountains folding over like batter in the bowl
and rivers melting into rivers.

can you still run?
you kiss me and say yes
there are things to do, love
the world is far too small
but we can still run anyways.

it’s bright out,
but it’s far past midnight.
if you don’t see a thing
(it’s because you don’t have enough practice
seeing in the dark)
with your cat eyes (nine lives)
and they slip past your fingers
the times you got so close
and the moments you mourned over
dissolve; love,
anyone can smile with the wind
running and running and running
(and then it’s morning).

windswept models up on a catwalk
or you running around in the dirt,
honestly, love
it doesn’t make a difference.
god sees you the same,
i see you the same.

where did you go? i can’t see you much at all
have your legs spun round so fast they blurred?
are you a blur?
are we all disappearing?

the moon extends a cold blue hand to help
the grass in monsoon time sheds a green tear for our misfortune
but she doesn’t see how we are thriving!
oh, we can run for a week and still have ourselves to ourselves,
we can still breathe, still be.

in a trance,
your eyes look up at me,
black and filled with murky honey
your cold bare feet standing by the water pump
in the rain,
your solitary body poised like a statue,
the fabric of your dress soaked and stained
the eyes of you looked down, in girlish resignation,
a young child submitting to the skies, to the pain.

Copyright 2016 Golden Star Poetry

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