I dream of spades.
spring is cool and wet and breath is sun
I tread on mulch,
brown flower petals crushed to carpet
soft, dead, bleeding on my sneakers
buds bloom and fall and crush
the shag grows, toes stumble through
push down, turn up
long nights and startling middays to part
pink brown pink
an indecisive sea that steeps, stains
my shoes, once white, gore-aged
too far gone.
sap seals leather cracks,
and spring will pass. perhaps.
if I set them on the shelf