looking at your feet and finding yourself

we are in a cool,
the cusp of day, tucked in the
casual lapse of conversation,
of words that slip when speech kisses wind.

there is ice melting about us,
silencing the warm winking sun, slicing
gravel to reveal glass.

my shoes slide by each spill,
careful, as though they were diamonds or dirt,

glistening windows to other worlds

safe from the weight of step.
i see you gazing into the soft shards,

mindful, as murky reflections flicker
with your space and shadow, a fire
growing in the grass.

there is no rainbow, but the colours still
whisper in sweet wavering wonder,
with you in the water,
flowers will eat the storm.