Dead brown cracked leather -weathered
stiff - layers of drying mud on soles.
Laces frayed, my hands still grasp them -
draw them around hooks, pull them tight
as they envelop aching feet; our day
is not done. The sunrise dies and I
lower myself into the dank crawl space
searching out the burst rusted pipe;
the corrupted water softening the leather
but its chill and moistened rot permeates,
ensuring I will never lose its rank entropy
Ariel
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