Gooseboots

'twas an article,
a simple piece to
wear when the world
had worn enough

away from you
my station passed
into a waning horizon

the sun dimmed
the view, blackened
blue flooding an
upturned empty bowl

spilled out the
moments onto its
canvas we stretched

over the bones
of our life to splatter
with oiled faith and
watery figments

flowing over
forgotten stubble
uncut from dull blade

the necks of many
waiting their penned
turns, rabbit hearts
leaping in their breasts

from the seconds
still to tick within
a few given minutes

comprise an end
to the last of walks
for which these brief
boots were fashioned for