I prefer writing with shoes on my feet.

My insistent sketching means that I’ll never have to write a song or poem about birds.

Fine by me, they do it on their own.

Besides I’m not much for writing songs anyway.

I took my shoes off when I caught word the ship was sinking.

and turned up the radio.

A woman was singing.

I put my boots on before stepping into the cold morning snow.

Got in the car and turned up the heater.

No one sang a note.

I walked a mile in her moccasins and could finally look myself in the eye again.

And over the dusty speakers, a voice grey with ages sang a final verse,

“…Hoping love would not forsake the days that lie between, lie between”.