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The Bent Over Woman

They see me shuffle by

dust wafting from my feet


And I keep walking.


Even the dogs, mangy

and lost

Move away from my path.


And I keep walking.


The children are all eyes

While their mothers yank them away


And I keep walking.


The sun drops behind me

And my path becomes shadows


And I keep walking.


What they do not see

Is that when

I don’t see

that sunrise


And can’t behold the rainbow,

I can see

the path itself


from sandaled feet, no matter

bejeweled or ragged,

is my downcast view.


And as my own barefeet

press into their forms,


Our footprints

leave a dusty map

of holy union.

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