rustling folds of sunset

worn in the rain by darkened lands

winding roads become difficult to follow

and I wonder

how far back I lost my shoes

too easy with my eyes toward heaven

to trip over corpses 

and go on chasing omens

barefoot and it doesn’t matter

thirsty and it doesn’t matter

desperate for a glimpse of smoke in the distance

or a sign of life in the muck beneath my feet

but it doesn’t matter

because the night is long

and I’ve miles still left to go

before morning

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If you want to hear poetry from some Denver poets you can find episodes of my show, The Poets, over at thepoets.co

Cheers!

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Photo by Daniele Buso on Unsplash