Put Your Feet Up

Let your sock-clothed toes
greet each other like sibling mutts
at the end of their patron limbs,
a pair of bridges that built themselves
between you and a yellow-wrought chair
then, satisfied, crossed their ankles
sending messages of familial quietude
up the mail routes of your bones
to angle your back more loungingly
against rosy worn wood.
Near your hands, coffee and a clutch of poems
reflect light between bay leaves
and also their associated shadows,
kept to remind you of losing and lost
but distantly (like the familiar horizon
every morning composed of trees),
allowing you a breaktime quiet
a load off your soles,
hair down and feet ― up.

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