Walk (for Downing)
by Richard Aitson
What love I will occur
for the shoes my feet have forsaken
And will the feet listen
for the whispers
straying
I believe I am walking
quietly
to you
And yet the stone’s dusty children
arise,
angry
(My feet awaken their fate)
Tomorrow
they will be still-
allow the wind’s dream to carry them
under a shawl of pollen
and cedar breath
Swallows sing promises,
I will be with you
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