
the sacred deep
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.