we are not separate

 "there are over 168 parts to the human foot, a marvel of engineering."

three days without weight is healing

i press each sole into forgiving spring moss

imprinting my entirety by way of fragility

silence as offering, i shift from side to side,

arms outstretched for balance, point and flex, tracing the alphabet 

with one foot first and then the other until i can arrange language that does not simply add 

to the noise

to name what is and how we feel about it, this too

is ground beneath us

i think about how most people smile from their eyes, share meals with

those they love, take care of animals, and leave a night light 

on without being asked

most people--we--didn't ask for this

and who will carry such heavy reckoning?

and who do i even mean by "we"?

support for the entire frame starts here with

*toes we love and toes we hate

they are the same toes

and how long can this tension hold

until the tendon snaps, inflamed?

an extra mile in shoes that do not fit

while barefoot walk the monks

i do not know.

i do not know when we will rest.

only that these feet are not an "us" or "them"; cannot 

travel contrarily without some kind of pain

i only know we are not separate

that crawling is patterned within every step,

and it's lighter when we bear 

another's frame

--ls 3.2.26

*modeled after "she had horses she loved.  she had horses she hated.  they were the same horses" by poet Joy Harjo