FEET

I’m sitting looking down at naked legs,
The Z’s my thighs, forelegs and feet create.
The skin conceals connecting joints, and great
Profusions of ligaments, arteries, veins and complex

Melanges of neurons, synapses, and ganglions,
All bathed in pulsing punches of blood and sera,
Stirred by cardiac muscle, the body’s hero,
And oxygen feeds the trillions of cellular wants,

A faithful prosaic miracle, mirrored in hordes
Of people and animals, insects and birds, a quite
Incredible pageant, thronged with death and delight.
It’s time to stand up and hoist the unequal support

Of a six-foot frame on a ten-inch sole: a slave,
But “beautiful on the mountains“–so said David!

(151, April 8, 1994)

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