Like an old
pair of blue jeans washed
Until the
denim dye fades to a pale, blue mist
And the
cloth takes on the character of another skin,
Thin and
unraveling at the knees,
Molded and
worn out remnants of cotton twill
Cling to my
bare legs and silently languish.
And the slow
disintegration of the woven threads
Begins my
descent out of a pale light;
My headlong
sprint into the heaviest fog,
Too dense to
see my footsteps fall,
With jeans
torn, thorns cut through to the thighs,
Blood
droplets seed the earth and deep mist spreads
Through the tall
grass and thickets as
Tree trunks
fuse with the thick, blue-grey haze
And tree
tops become obscure.
Breathless
at the end of my run, the old jeans are vague now
And disappear
among the vapors.
© cmheuer,
2013
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