A dusty body, soft steps with crisp legs noiselessly sliding across layer
of fallen leaves sharing your burnt shade of brown,
lightly variant and subtly disjointed, until I lose sight
of your shape, vanishing under. Now more,
like yourself, are emerging slightly darker and lighter,
all slender and incalculably discreet in their humble pursuit.
What stories can be told underground, at the end
of long days and nights? Closing all your eyes,
folding all your legs, sleeping
as silently as you live, in prayer,
meditation in each strange step, alive
among desiccated matter without worry or need or hope.