Soles

We'll stitch them

And make each wool sleeve filthier

Sew each hem

Then run your hands into the dirt

Each grass stain

Makes your legs all the more your own

To walk on

The feet that we have weaved and sewn

Our homes were

All brittle bones and brittle knees

We're running

We'll stagger in these redwood trees

No judgment

Except the times when we will steal

No sleep now

We'll gather in the windswept fields