From this angle the heel of a boot looks
like any other;
the debris crushed
into tread indistinguishable
from one to the next.
Enough time in this place, where reality
shifts underfoot,
and sand eclipses
the want of camouflage, the need
to hide behind the symbolism of color,
or the fear a camera
might seize your soul.
What is lost cannot penetrate the optics,
steal past the lens
like the hint of a smile,
the delicate balance
of boot on cheek, or the curve of a body
folded on concrete.
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