Bare Feet
by Mike Wiegand

    boy philosopher,
    sage round head
    shaved close in soft, short, sandy bristles.
    beaming face, childishly handsome
    painfully, painlessly innocent.
    a spry, friendly ghost
    flying back out to the car
    without shoes in the rain
    for one last goodbye hug,
    bare feet glide lightly over
    wet blacktop,
    eyes unbelievably bright
    incomprehensibly pure
    staring sinlessly into
    a darker heart
    without hesitation,
    without fear,
    without regret.
    gift given,
    gone like a snowflake in April.
    there must be more to this
    than mere driving away,
    this not quite thought,
    while trying to find a good song
    on the car radio.

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