Dusty Boots
August 19, 2019
13 pairs of dusty boots
traverse the veins
of this body,
tread upon her ancient skin,
float upon her sacred blood.
Like vines on an old brick wall,
footprints linger,
breath echoes,
heartbeats sync.
A rhythm constructed
with patience,
held in a delicate balance,
played only for
one pair of ears
This lake has no ego.
These trees hold no grudge.
This soil bears no teeth.
These rocks know no greed.
This land shows no fear.
This body serves no human.
Nell, Berkeley, Yellow Hats
