Spring In My Step

Folder: 
Vintage Words

.

My feet barely remember

the feel of dry sidewalk 

as a warm breeze teases

the neck inside an ill

raised collar. If I

look back, buds turn

the shoreside branches

willowy green. My toes

wiggle on cue.

.

The squirrels are confused

again; sun, snow, rain, sun.

Still, unequivocally, my

feet know the distance

is welcome under the sky

without one cloud.

.

allets

01-19-16

217p

.


 

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