Footsteps

A cut up cactus lies in pieces
in the sand and is overtime
completely covered by the land.
Roadkill is scraped like ice
off the asphalt mostly raccoons
and stray dogs left running free.
Through the branches you can see
the beginning of the other side
of town where there is everything
you could want behind a price tag.
Lines of security stand by simply
to search your bags for any sharp
edged metal instruments
you could use to pry and slice
their world apart.
You trace the outer shape
of a heart, but not the kind
they plaster onto everything.
This one is real and you can feel
the beats inside you lining up
with something frozen
on the paper. You fold it up
into a plane and watch
it fly against the breeze
toward the other side
of the river where no one
has ever marked the ground
with footsteps.

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