Boots (Dunedin, 2015)

You gathered the soil
of the Southern Alps
on treks through
every version of moisture falling.

That splendid crunch
when you landed
in snow, and a bit
clung to you, didn’t it?

He tied your laces
without a thought:
the sturdy knot, the loops
symmetrical every time,
(some kind of miracle)
that confident tug.

Bell birds rejoiced,
as you swayed through the bush,
tight, with his stride.

But your travels ended
last night in exuberant flight
with a different kind of knot.
It holds you
nodding, in the morning breeze.

Do residents think me strange?
Old lady in cut offs,
photographing an empty intersection.
I just can’t resist
your high wire act.

I’ll remember you long after
that drunken fellow
with an excellent arm
has forgotten
his wild, extravagant gesture.
Long after your laces
have let go.

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