Your Feet

 When I cannot look at your face 
I look at your feet.
 
Your feet of arched bone, 
your hard little feet.
 
I know that they support you, 
and that your sweet weight 
rises upon them.
 
Your waist and your breasts, 
the doubled purple 
of your nipples, 
the sockets of your eyes 
that have just flown away, 
your wide fruit mouth, 
your red tresses, 
my little tower.
 
But I love your feet 
only because they walked 
upon the earth and upon 
the wind and upon the waters, 
until they found me.

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