You walk across uneven stones
weedy moss creeping beneath
your heavy step.

Broken marble devoured
by salt, damp,
the uneasiness of air,
rest next to your dark feet.

Pine needles, dirt
washed by
the day’s storm,
cover what should be white.

Your night feet
– housed in black worn leather –
feel bound to earth

the earth so deep,
old, musky
dissolving lives
corroding dreams.

You crush them with each footfall.
And they wake
to find themselves remembering
what used to be

no longer there
not how they looked.
Only a thought,

a soothing bareness.
Forgetfulness.
Freedom to move on.

Your night shoes
ground your feet
in darkness.

This sleep wakes memories of death.