Warm Feet

by Matt Friday

The soft roundness
under your toes
their prints, ribbed and textural:
the secret screed of unscored millenniums,
long and branching paths
-one more step
pushing off porous gravity.

Witness our aching humanity:
to fly, grip-
pulled and pulling
becoming, now and then
quick and luminous,
real, by choice or accident
weighted and shadowless.

But tonight there is just this:
love, I think,
and sleep at the end of day,
if tired and forgiving:
the moment slipping between now and then
reflected, hushed-alive
in liminal possibility. 

Matt Friday is a poet living in Eugene, Oregon.   
This is his first publication in White Crane.