Footprints

Footprints

I’m walking in the footprints
I left the first time around
To escape the notice of the few
Who might have taken note.

The steps are deep and felt
And deeply felt.
They swallow my feet
Scrape my bared knees.

Acrimonious delight stands
Still and yet marches
On in its stillness.

My moccasins are worn
And for letting,
To a high bidder or low,
For a third trip around.

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