These shining new black pellet shoes are
Lovelier than waxy springtime buddings
Printing definition, crisp shapes, in grass
Just like poised profiles of petal women
After the sure, clean bite of apple tread

But I long for my day-bleached shoes, that bit
Not the grass, but the edges of my toes
Gentle choke that mimicked naked sole grind.
I resent the pink bud toes that might claim you –
Wonder is my heart unlike old leather;
Will it swell and spread to love bigger things?

I keep your laces in an angler's knot
Around my bedpost to catch the too-big dreams.