The Shoes

When they first came

their mouths agape

their bodies shining

like beetles about to stir

every edge poised

for the multitude of steps

some moment

of leaping not yet taken

their hides stiff

shielding some tenderness

within, warming

to the creak of movement

over penitent steps

or dusty wastes, unyielding

tasks or stony memorials

of waiting

through the heat of day's

quiet middle, every icy

threshold or soggy spring

their heels flush with pavement,

their soles flung aside only

for love, all the tattered

maps of their seams, every

unforgiving rub.