God’s Feet

Whatever else, God’s feet know
(and I don’t mean metaphorically)
how the body’s weight lets down
on the heel, rolling forward, propelling
off the toes, the heel lifting
to let the sole look briefly back,
and feeling beneath one’s forward motion
the touch, over and over and over and over,
of the earth, grit against rock,
soft moisture-hoarding earth under weed clumps
with thickly matted roots, or the hard-packed paths
of many humans moving.

I do not know how many millions of steps
his clip-on pedometer counted before breaking
nor do I know whether he felt each tendon
pulling from familiar crannies
where he first connected them in Adam’s feet,
the tiny flow of blood through capillaries in his ankle,
the cell-by-cell growth of a nail ―
but I am certain of one thing: his feet know
the ground.