Words for Walking Boots
the sun like spun silk
hangs loose in the sky
above a vast empty world
sewn by hands of strangers
she goes for a stroll
in clouds of cotton
the wind is her veil
her hair made of whispering weeds
her path paved with daisies
cashmere and regret
day breaks lightly
wrapping her in sleepy blue songs
like velvet for nightingales
she embraces the earth
in clothes like dusk
life can best be tasted
in a t-shirt and jeans
yet sometimes she dreams
of wearing an ephemeral gown
the color of an Arizona sunset
and she wants to travel the universe
dancing into every room
floating on stories
daring to scream at the top of her lungs
one size does not fit all
she never wants to be confined
in a world that tries to define
a woman
by the shape of her body
rather than the contours of her mind
