I was sleep walking,
eyes closed, still in dreams,
I am sure of it.
Surrounded by the hills
of my youth and valleys
full of endless fields,
as though they were gold
spun in the sun
and ready for harvest,
that I walked barefoot,
as I always did,
till met you under
the branches of a grove
of walnut trees,
where everything
was barren about them,
and the earth black
as the bottom of my feet,
that you had to ask,
“do they hurt?” That as I
turned the soles upwards,
you did not wait, but took
me and all that I had to offer.

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