I saw you look, then
look away. Sure, my
pelvis
kept tilting me down the sidewalk,
but the orchestra in my center went
silent.
Dear face: Keep
pointing forward.
Do not confine me in
that frozen place
again.
You looked, turned away…
Still,
I accept that glance as
something.
Brow down,
I measure the sidewalk
with my onwardness,
unseen wounds stepping my feet along.
J. Pratt-Walter, 7/8/2016
