poems as hand- and foot-holds on a glass mountain

Old Shoes

We’re old shoes all worldly weathers wear
we’re dancing thinking only we will sing

left right neither leads nor straggles, stairs
a startled challenge we forgot they’d bring.

We don’t age we change. See weathers clear
winds sound conjunctive hollows, echoes ring

nature’s band tunes up to flaunt its flair
to lift our so-called feet again as wings.

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