But these timetested callouses
I keep on my soles
save me–
from fresh edges
of brokensharpandshining pieces
that litter the bare earth.
So I keep the march alive.
Highstep, as if I can touch
my nose with my knees/
push forward.
Follow the beat
that pounds
like wild horses
in quiet hillsides.
Fact: those spots of blood,
that drag like the train
of a sunset's wedding dress,
are a testament
to luckyhard&lovely
times—
this: the reason why
I will never give it up.
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