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”.