bwg poem: ONE

NT - Concentric design


Losing sight of the sun
severely cools my feet.
In turn, this body
caves in, folding itself, settled
on redress, to sleep. A
fully purposed bundle, like
Navajo infants in baby mamas’ arms,
wrapped tight. Even, just one lonely
sock will do. Or, shelter,
unasked, freely given
shelter, beneath the soles
of your feet. Bit by bit,
and then, all at once, faint
and forgotten is the pain
of absent light. Easy
we be to the odd in
your good, easy we bow
to your relentless warmth,
cause red well, my feet rest
steady on earth and walk
again. Distantly bearing
gifts upon us
I want and can’t be close.

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