The Breath on the Souls of Your Feet

Chip blocks away
of yourself
because nothing else will.
Which is, of course,
what you want all along.
You want everyone running toward you
but never wonder
if they care to stop
or roll right through you
and end up behind you anyway.
You always ask me if I saw you that morning,
well I did –
you were still wearing your dress
walking down the gravel path
toward a pale weak sun.

– Los Angeles, CA

20140902_193419

Taken in Darby, MT

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