this sidewalk is
holy ground
where he
places his shoes
just
beyond reach of his
bent grasp
each night under the thick
thighs of I-405
laying on
mattress of cardboard
bedding of coat-blanket-hat
face masked in dim light
i’ve never
looked
in his eyes
taught it is wrong to stare
into the fire’s core
&
the radiance
might blind me
each night those shoes
set out trusting
each morning always
always there when
traffic’s roar grows
in cadence with
his stomach’s growl
tonight
i step around
aware of what is
sacred:
a pair of shoes
a man that
Moses would have
recognized as the
burning bush
i walk on
while the bush
burns
anne richardson
anne richardson weaves her connection to the other beings in nature into her poetry. Publications include Tiny Seed Literary Journal, The Poeming Pigeon, and Mountain Bluebird Magazine. She has been a recipient of Willamette Writers’ Kay Snow Award for Poetry. Her Substack publication is @followingdandelion seeds (https://nurtureyourjourney.substack.com/)