Toes

To a divine light

Does the grave of

Women’s feet under

Tables makes young boys

Meet out of what was

A man

He, or him, or any them,

Whistles children’s flightless

Whims when toes

Are prodded frolicking

Solitude of two soles

Bound in better things

Then shoelaces

For as I say

As all men will

Falter to a woman’s feet

Will make man bid

Adu to manly things

For these touching give them wings

And birds they do become

Some are nightingale

Some are crow

Some are baffled to and fro

But all canst leave

The rousing kneading

Of a woman’s toes