The History of Feet

The tide of paving,
poured or pounded,
cast and set
upon the land
in hardened veins
and arteries:
a cartographic masterpiece
allowing transport
and communication.

Tropic frost will erase
this network
given time and inattention.
No freeze and thaw,
but grass and other roots,
moss and ants and fungus,
trees and shrubs and vines
growing in, creeping out,
incessant, humble thrusts
becoming torrents of erosion
exerting constant pressure
upon the doors of maintenance
always ajar.

The history of surfaces
lies pocked and cracking
a simple leap
far enough below this balcony
to be decisive.
I walk the narrow pavement
around its edge,
wineglass in my hand
curious about trajectory and timing,
calculating what could I land on
with careful aiming.

More than hypothetical
this space between us.
Below, the history of feet,
above, the history of head.