Beginning with you
at the start of your beauty
your feet
soft curving, hard in places that have
felt the earth too many times.
I love the thin smooth flesh
at the arch,
sloping from toe
to heel, i love the fitting of
my fist in that space
when i rub the weary day from the tensing
direction of stress in your feet
how at night they find me, like cold lost eskimos
and you keep them under the heat
of my muscular legs
your feet, still white in the summer, a welcome contrast against the dark green
grass,
on the hill where i read you poetry. watching
your toes find the subtleties of air.
your feet while hidden from the world
are coveted treasures i see everywhere.