Get Your Feet Right

Sheep chew grass
by barbed wire
not sensing anything
just staring into space.
The brick sidewalk
shifts from years of
cooling and heating.
All these decades
getting walked on
by work boots
and high heels.
Old banners
for big days gone
wrapped around streetlights
unreadable and damp.

I want to take a pickaxe
to the moon and burst it open
with a solid swing.
Just perfect contact
of the rusted point into the pale
rock laced with microscopic glass
to make the waves stop
and let the distant stars
take over.

Ignore the ring
around the world
ignore the stone cut
with your name there
on the muddy hill.
The view out by
the slanted wooden fence
of just the houses
past the river,
and the golden light
suspended in their windows,
should be the only
thing you notice.
Get your feet right
on the incline
and when you’re ready
make your way back
down the side.