• 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.

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