word's aren't perfect,

and neither am i,

you can see it

in my shoes:

threads unraveled,

sole near bare,

from gravel and glass,

from running and typing;

all the lefts

and rights i spoke

only to return-

"i'm so sorry"

doesn't change at all

the fact of the trail

or the taste on my tongue

or the shame i feel

when you look down

and see the wilderness

on my feet.